The Ties That Bind
by RuthieBelle
Summary: A murder at the Exclusive Sommerbank School involves William and Julia while they work to address the educational situation of their future children and attempt to explain their pasts to one another. The part of Julia mostly written by Fallenbelle, while William was mostly written by Ruthie Green. :)
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Ties That Bind

Author: RuthieBelle

Rating: M

Spoilers: General Season 10 Variety

Disclaimer: We don't Own MM!

* * *

The silence was palpable between them, the frustration emanating from the pair in almost perceptible waves as they sat in the well-sprung carriage, coming home from yet another interview with yet another adoption board. The carriage was the only thing rolling along smoothly. Julia didn't need to wait with baited breath for a letter that gave them approval; she knew the case would be yet again, rejection.

At Julia's insistence, they had first visited with the orphanages chaired by one-time friends and acquaintances of her family. She'd been hopeful that whatever goodwill had once existed between them and her would be enough to obtain a child from them. However, her litany of sins against polite society were long, and in the end, her arrests, divorce scandal, murder trial, and the fact that she had no intention of becoming a full-time mother were too much for long passed familiarity to overcome, and all applications for a child had been denied.

Finally, Julia accepted that they had no other recourse, so this time they had met with the adoption board of the Archdiocese of Toronto. They had each chosen their most sober, serious clothing and presented their most genuine, sincere, open attitudes for the occasion. Given that her husband had obtained glowing letters of introduction from members of his Parish as well as his priest, Father Clemens, and that he was one of the more notable Catholics in a largely Protestant town, things had initially looked promising.

Until the interview, that is.

Though she had never told William, there was a reason she had been loath to go this route in the first place. In order to get William his Church wedding (that she had truly wanted to give him), she had agreed that all children resulting from the marriage would be raised Catholic. Now that said children were no longer some far off idea but were imminent and quite real, she balked at such a thing. Whatever had happened to free choice? Why did she have to agree that children were to be raised in a religion in which they had no say? Though she didn't know why, she somehow found it distasteful.

Thus, when she had been asked if she would be willing to sign an oath that she would promise to not only raise the children Catholic, but that they would also attend Catholic schools, she balked. She flat out stated that she did not know if she could in good conscience sign such an oath.

The interview concluded soon after that, and the two of them had returned to the hotel, all discussion of a celebratory dinner forgotten. Though he hadn't said a word to her since they had gotten into the carriage, she knew her husband well enough to recognize that his silence and staring out the window meant that his mind was trying to process what had happened and why she could not feel that she could sign an oath swearing that she would agree to something that she had already verbally agreed to at an earlier date.

To be perfectly honest, she wondered the same thing. But she did know that she could no longer sit and wait for the angry accusations: she couldn't deal with his resentment right now since she was too angry at herself at the moment.

 _Why could I not have agreed?_ She wondered, before her thoughts got darker: _Why couldn't I have just lied? Then, I could have had this conversation with William at a later time,_ she irately reminded herself as the carriage pulled up at the hotel.

The carriage had barely come to a halt when she flung open the door and propelled herself out and towards the door. She hadn't waited for William to alight first and help her out as they usually did, and she didn't even look behind her as she entered the hotel and headed straight for the bar as opposed to their suite. She rather hoped he hadn't followed her, as she really wasn't keen on dealing with his distress; not when she was already disappointed with herself and trying to handle her own.

Once again, she had denied her husband a child, this time almost intentionally.

"Good Afternoon, Dr. Ogden," the bartender greeted her, correctly judging from her facial expression that she was not in the mood for pleasantries. "A whiskey, neat?" he asked remembering her usual order.

"Yes, please," she replied as she sat in a corner, well hidden from others. She needed time to think, to process what she had just done.

No sooner had her drink been brought to her when William sat down across from her, ordering a spruce beer for himself that was immediately brought to him.

No words were said for several minutes as they quietly sat across from one another until Julia surprised herself by breaking the silence.

"I don't know why I found the oath distasteful, William. I'm well aware that I agreed to raise the children Catholic when I petitioned for us to marry in the Church, I don't know why it seems unpalatable to me now, and no one ever mentioned anything to me about requiring a Catholic education in addition," she found herself explaining as she finished her whiskey, and motioned for a refill.

William's thoughts buzzed in his head. He'd been furiously turning the problem over in his mind on the carriage ride home hoping, _God willing,_ for a way that the situation could still be retrieved with the adoption board _and_ with his wife. He had started out being quite optimistic and happy about going to the Diocesan Orphanage, believing that their petition for a child would actually be welcome as there were so many Catholic orphans and so few Catholic families to take them in. His own brush as a lad with being threatened to be placed in a Home made him sympathetic to any child who might want to leave an institution like that for a warm, loving and permanent family. He and Julia had laid out their arguments ahead of time, rehearsed how they would answer the inevitable inquiries about their pasts and he had felt quite confident going into the meeting, assuming they had covered all their bases. He had even allowed himself a brief fantasy about how proud he would be when he brought their child into their new home. He never counted on Julia not going along with whatever was necessary to get approval for an adoption. He sighed, getting a grip on himself in the process.

Julia's impulsive objection to a Catholic education caught him completely off guard and he chastised himself for having assumed too much, it seemed, about her willingness to set aside her prejudices. He also assumed she understood something about what a Catholic education entailed, having known him for so many years _. Too many assumptions, I guess,_ he thought with irritation _._ Knowing he had to move the conversation forward, he offered something more neutral instead: "I must admit, the education question surprised me as well. But would a Catholic education be the worst thing, Julia? I'm well pleased with my education provided by the Jesuits, and I would seek something similar for our son," he continued, looking seriously at her to gauge her reaction.

Nodding, Julia took a long swallow of her drink, relishing the burn in her throat as a nice distraction from that of her heart.

"It is always a son, isn't it? Why do we want a son, William? What if we were provided an opportunity to adopt a daughter, would she be that unacceptable to you?" she wondered aloud, as much as to herself as to her husband.

William merely gasped in response, noticing the questioning evident in her eyes. _He_ knew he'd love any child, but had he ever said so? Had they ever really discussed this? _Assumptions again,_ he thought ruefully. "I…I don't know," he admitted with a small shrug and the helpless expression he wore when she had caught him unawares. "No child would be unacceptable to me. Girls are equal in my eyes to boys…but I guess I have always imagined a son…"

"I don't know why I favor a son either, William," she conceded with a conciliatory gesture. "Perhaps it's time we reflect, think and ask one another why we both want a son, and what our hopes and dreams are for this child," she acknowledged, finishing her drink.

"Indeed." William nodded, his spruce beer hardly touched. "Julia, I will order dinner to be served by six thirty." He made the brief trip to the bar, asking Samuel to send to the kitchen for their meal, before coming back to his wife. "Let us go upstairs, shall we? We do have a lot to think about and discuss," he said, standing and offering her his hand.

"Only if you promise to not pretend that you're not disappointed or upset with me. You have a right to be," she countered.

William felt his guts clench. He saw that she was angry, but he had no intention of arguing back despite his own feelings roiling inside, so he made his face and voice as calm and neutral as possible. "No, I will not pretend. I'm very confused Julia, which is why I want to _talk_."

"Well, that makes two of us then," she replied, and accepted his hand.

Walking back upstairs to their room, Julia began to feel conflicted again. She was angry, yes, but why? There was no one to blame here but herself; it was her disastrous life decisions that had led them here, so anger could only be directed at herself.

So when William asked her what she would like to discuss first, she fired back, mostly at herself. She suggested that perhaps a surrogate was the way to go.

William was nonplussed, and it took a long moment to figure out if she was serious about risking another situation such as they had with Roland. "A private adoption?" he asked, noticing the memory still stung. "We discussed the risks of that before." Another thought presented itself, disturbing his intentions to remain calm. "Or do you want us to offer to pay a woman, bribe her with money, for a child she is too poor to raise? You cannot possibly mean for us to take advantage of her poverty!" He was shocked at the idea, eyes widening in concern, hoping against hope she was merely being stubborn or deliberately preposterous. He also began to wonder if he should have brought his spruce beer along with him to the suite… _Or something stronger._ This conversation was not going as he thought it would, with his imagination running wild all of a sudden. "I cannot believe you want to pretend the baby is ours then by having you go away for a while and coming home to Toronto with an infant as if you had given birth?" He stood by the settee with his hands in fists, unable to bring himself to move.

"No William, that's not exactly what I meant," she explained as she walked over to him, stopping just short of touching him. She needed to face this head on, as she wanted no misunderstanding and there would be no going back from what she was about to propose.

She took a deep breath before continuing. "I propose a different sort of surrogacy, one that has been practiced for centuries as well as in the Bible. The woman will be well compensated and will choose as such of her own free will. We can find a nice, healthy young woman, perhaps even one that looks like me if you like, and approach her…" she explained.

"Approach her for what?" he asked, the hairs on the back of his head rising.

Wincing, she steeled her resolve and forced herself to carry forward. "If she agrees, and I don't see why she wouldn't," she forced herself to smile here, squeezing his bicep before trailing her hand down his chest, "you can lie with her, as many times as is necessary until we are certain she has conceived."

William stared back in horror as thoughts of animal husbandry flickered through his mind. _This is so outrageous, I wonder if I am hearing her correctly._ It took a while for it to sink in what she was suggesting and when he made his mouth work he almost shouted. "Julia! Are you merely being provocative?"

Despite her best efforts, her voice broke here, speaking in a rush in an increasingly in vain attempt to convince him that her idea was possible. "We would ensure all of her needs are met, she would receive regular medical care…" she pressed on before William interrupted her.

"I have so many objections to that scheme it is difficult to name them," he bitterly retorted as his eyes narrowed in something akin to anger. He bit his lip and tasted a hint of blood. He knew he spoke sharply, but he was unable to decide which was worse: Julia's mounting distress or her indecent proposal, so he grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to snap her out of it.

"Such as?" she asked bringing her head up in defiance, almost daring him to reject her generous offer. _But isn't that what you want him to do?_

"Firstly, that is adultery, no matter how you dress it up! If I was unwilling to commit that particular sin with _you_ I am certainly not willing to commit it with anyone else!" He thought he was shocked before, but the absurdity was creeping over him now as well. _How did we get here?_ he wondered, shaking his head and holding her away from him, looking her squarely in the eyes. "And you use the Bible when it suits your argument? That is disingenuous of you," he almost laughed. Taking a calming breath, he reminded himself that Julia's quirky, morbid humor sometimes prevailed in an attempt to hide her distress, and that she enjoyed pricking him on occasion when she thought he was being pompous or obtuse.

A thorough examination of her face revealed she was dead serious; then he noticed she was physically quaking, judging by the feel of her muscles and bones under his hands. His thoughts spun. The whole idea was abhorrent, and he began to think that Julia was feeling guilty again about being infertile, and he was frustrated that she did not seem to believe him when he knew, down to his soul, that he did not resent her for it or hold it against her in the least. Sabotaging adoption, or resistance to Catholic Schooling was another matter…for another time, it seemed.

"Julia," he sought her eyes again with his before continuing, to make sure she was paying attention, and tried to put a little humor of his own into his answer. "That did not work out too well for Hagar _or_ Sarah…or Abraham for that matter, let alone their children. Where is this coming from?"

"Yes, William, I know Sarah didn't handle it well, but it's what I deserve," she cried, attempting to push him away while he pulled her towards him. "It's my fault I can't get pregnant, it's my fault we lost Roland, and it's my fault we can't adopt..." she cried as William finally captured her in his arms.

 _So. I finally guessed correctly_. William held her as she cried, her wet tears soaking the shoulder of his jacket. His instinct was to be strong for her so he hugged her and swayed with her until her body softened, her sobbing stopped and some of the pain left her eyes. When she seemed more composed, he loosened his grasp on her and backed away fractionally. "There," he said and planted a kiss on her temple. "All is not lost, but I see we have many considerations that we managed to overlook. This is not all your fault, but before we have another interview we need to know where we stand, together, Julia, always together."

Smiling and sniffling at the same time, she knew he had correctly deduced the reasons for her outrageous suggestion and inwardly chastised herself for thinking that it would ever be a viable solution to their problem. _William's known me long enough to know how possessive I am. He knows I could never tolerate such an arrangement. How many times have we reminded each other that we belong to one another? How many times have I reminded him to exercise the utmost caution in his job, as he does not belong to himself anymore? How often has he done the same with me?_

William noticed a little spark return to her face, and decided turnabout was fair play. "So…just how serious were you, hmmm? Thinking of lending me out to stud so to speak? You know, some women need a long time to conceive…so it could take many, many tries to get a girl pregnant, just to be sure." He was gratified that his outrageous comment was getting a rise out of her as she produced a slight giggle, accompanied by a swat towards his chest with her hand. He lowered his lashes and grinned complacently to himself to hide flaming cheeks, then brought his face to hers and gave her a deep kiss, feeling distracted by the taste of her lips.

 _That's better. One crisis averted…for now,_ he thought when she kissed back.

It concerned him that he and Julia were apparently so far apart on their views of child rearing, knowing that eventually her behavior today would need to be addressed. He thought about her questions, while acknowledging the assumptions he had been making also deserved discussion as well. He knew they really _should_ take this quiet opportunity to talk….but all of that was fading in importance. At the moment, his attention was fixed on the stirrings of desire brought about by Julia's hands stroking his neck and the feel of her flesh under his hands. _Talking will have to wait…_

"Julia," he said as he repositioned his mouth to suck on the delicate skin below her ear. "You don't really want me to do this with any other woman, now do you?" He moved his hands along her rib cage and over her hips.

Julia shook her head, "No, I most certainly do not," she murmured as she nipped his ear.

"Then, come…" he kept his arms around her and backed her into the other room and over to their bed. "All this talk of Biblical 'begetting' has put me in a certain mood."

"Mmmm, yes. Stud service indeed," she giggled, opening his vest and attacking his shirt buttons.

The sweet, sensual kiss that followed held a promise of passion. William was never sure he had the words to tell her exactly how he felt and why he felt the way he did, but perhaps he could show her with actions how precious and primary she was in his life…

The jangle of the telephone intruded at the same time as a knock on the door announced their dinner cart, startling them abruptly apart.

"Damn it!" Julia muttered in annoyance, reluctantly pushing away from William. She looked at his state of dishabille and smiled as she noted his highly evident arousal. "I'll get the door and you get the telephone."

William nodded with a disappointed sigh and let her go so he could end the incessant ringing. _I just_ _ **know**_ _that has to be the constabulary_. He picked up the earpiece and said his name, listening to the voice on the other end as Julia and the dinner cart glided past.

She stood there with her hands on her hips and waited until her husband was done making two sets of notes and hung up on the call. "Well? It's usually George who interrupts us…"

William frowned. "Speaking of schools…a body has been found at the Sommerbank Academy. Miss James has already been dispatched." He began rapidly fixing his attire, halting part way to lift the domed lid on one of the plates and inhale, filching a slice of meat to nibble on before giving his wife another kiss. Then he shrugged his jacket back on and selected a coat and his hat since the weather was turning. "But don't think you have escaped as your presence has been requested at the morgue by Crown Prosecutor Gordon. There is apparently a late hour plea deal in the making for the case against Alvis Grimsby and he wants to be briefed on the evidence. They are sending you a hansom that should be here in ten minutes." He came to her, holding both her hands in his to say goodbye.

"Julia, we will come back to this, I promise. All of it…" his neck coloured slightly. "And we _do_ need to talk." With that he was gone.

Looking around their suite, Julia groaned. Not only was she to be deprived of the carnal delights of her husband for the evening, she would instead be entertaining the Crown Prosecutor, the same man who had attempted to have her hung for a crime she didn't commit. _The bastard was unwilling to consider a plea deal for me, and yet I'm supposed to drop everything to be his lackey? Male privilege, indeed!_

As she hurriedly grabbed a few bites to eat while she waited for the call that the carriage had arrived for her, she chuckled to herself. _So arrogant I was in my own privilege of truth, I probably wouldn't have considered a plea bargain._ Answering the call that her carriage was waiting, she sighed one final time in frustration as she grabbed her coat and went downstairs, disappointed that duty had prevented her and William knowing one another in a biblical sense yet again.


	2. Chapter 2

Sommerbank Academy with its impressive curved entranceway, sat facing due east on a small rise at the end of a long carriage lane, surrounded by level lawns and a small orchard. Behind the building, the horizon was thick with pine and fir trees. All this talk with Julia of children and education stirred memories in William. The forested backdrop reminded him of his own boarding school, St. Ignatius, in the near-wild environs outside of Fredericton, New Brunswick. Sommerbank, on the other hand, was by all accounts, Toronto's premiere non-sectarian college-preparatory program for boys, boasting its ability to place graduates in the most prestigious colleges and universities in Canada, Britain and the States.

As Detective William Murdoch and Constable George Crabtree approached in the back of a police carriage, they could see the morgue wagon was hitched along a wide curved driveway at the front of the school. To the right was a small parking area which contained two motor cars and several carriages. Last rays from the setting sun thrust their way through lowering grey clouds to illuminate the façade, bringing a temporary apricot glow to the yellow brick structure full of heavy, carved lintels and cornice-work above windows and below the rooflines, and topping twin crenelated towers at each end of the structure's front elevation. William took in the sense of gravitas and self-importance spelled out by the architecture. _I wonder if Julia attended school at a place like this,_ he asked himself. Their driver pulled up behind the morgue wagon, letting the two men out on the crushed gravel drive to gather their equipment. Instead of going up the steps past massive twin oaken doors into the main body of the building, however, Constable Jackson ushered them to the north side of the building where they greeted Miss Rebecca James, coroner's assistant.

Miss James was standing at attention a short distance from the body, her long fawn-coloured coat blowing around as wind picked up.

The detective calmly surveyed the scene, inhaling the smell of incoming rain in the air. He made the sign of the cross before asking: "What have you, Miss James?" William did this out of respect to Miss James's position as well as habit, not because any explanation in the case was necessary: a man's body was laid out on the ground close to the side entrance of the school, and where his head should have been was a great hunk of stone. William's experience with various methods of death gave him a fairly sure picture of the man's crushed and flattened skull, and the small bits of blood and brain matter that escaped the edges of the stone endorsed his opinion. He waited politely as two other constables set up outdoor lighting to fight the rapidly falling darkness.

"Detective," Miss James began. "The victim has been identified as the president of the Sommerbank Academy board of trustees, Mr. Josiah McNaughton. He was to meet with other board members to conduct business tonight. He was discovered by a fellow trustee, the first to arrive at about a quarter to six o'clock. He noticed that while Mr. McNaughton's motor car was here, the main doors were open and lights were on but the man was nowhere to be found. When another trustee also arrived, the two men set out to check the perimeter of the building and that's when they found Mr. McNaughton and called the constabulary."

"And the victim?" William prompted.

Miss James kept her face and voice serious. "He appears to have been struck by falling debris. I will know more when I get him back to the morgue," she answered. She saw the detective study the large stone with interest. "I am also planning on taking the object that struck him and samples of whatever is beneath him back with me for analysis." She was rewarded with a smile of approval from the detective.

"Yes, thank you. I think that's a good idea." William's pronouncement caused a deep groan to escape Constable Jackson's throat a while Crabtree suppressed a snicker. Jackson, as the largest and strongest of the men present would likely be doing the bull work. William ignored both and cast a critical eye over the stone again. "I think you will need a block and tackle," he paused… "And another wagon."

He looked up at the roofline soaked in darkness and then bent to look closer at the body. "Constable Crabtree? Please take flash photographs of the scene and see if you can get up to the roof as well. I want to see where this piece of stone came from."

Crabtree had already started setting up his gear, rushing to take advantage before the rain started. William then turned to ask Jackson: "Who found the body?"

# # #

"Detective Murdoch, I was hoping it would be you!" A warm voice called out.

"James Pendrick." William strode down a long library aisle to greet the handsome, lanky man, completely dwarfed by a great hearth that was surmounted by a larger than life portrait of a dour-looking gentleman, whom William took to be someone of importance to the school. William shook Pendrick's hand, genuinely pleased to see him, and let that show. "Good evening. I take it you are the one who found Mr. McNaughton."

"Detective. We have to stop meeting like this." James's dry flash of a smile was characteristic as was his companion's slightly pained grimace at the quip. "I went here, you know, to Sommerbank as a scholarship student." Pendrick lifted a thumb towards the portrait looming above him. "That bastard was our headmaster, Mr. Cecil Rowland. Ran this place like a martinet."

William took a second look at the portrait, imagining that stern black gaze keeping watch over students, impressing upon them the seriousness of their academic endeavours, and the school's motto carved underneath the mantle: _Et ad Summum: Prudentia, Temerantia, Fortitudo, Iustitia._ William recognized the four virtues. _No frivolous amusements allowed, I'll wager._ William was surprised to hear James Pendrick went here as a scholarship student. Pendrick always said the two of them had much in common, and it seemed there were additional points in favour of that: William had also been a scholarship student at the Jesuit-run St. Ignatius. Of course, his small, monastery-like school looked nothing like this impressive place even if the curriculum had been excellent. In addition his own headmaster had been…if not a bastard, rather brutal.

"But it was all for the best I suppose." Pendrick smiled in a self-deprecating manner. "I turned out all right."

"Indeed." William agreed, motioning for them to sit at one of the massive, long oak library tables and pulling out his notebook. "Can you tell me the circumstances of discovering the body?"

Pendrick crossed his long legs and assumed a pensive air. "I was looking for him. He was supposed to chair our trustee meeting. I arrived by five thirty and I thought he was already here. When he did not surface Samuel Gibbons and I agreed to try the outside of the building. I went one way and he the other—I guess I got the short straw." Pendrick smiled sadly. "Or I suppose poor Josiah did."

William acknowledged the observation. "Did you see or hear anything suspicious?"

"No, other than not being able to find Josiah. It is a horrible sort of _Karma_ —do you know what that is? We were meeting to set a budget and start repairs on this very building among other matters." Pendrick shook his head. "Josiah was rather tight fisted with money. This is not the first time a piece of the building has injured someone; two months ago a student suffered a broken shoulder when some brickwork gave way—cost us a pretty penny to settle that. Tonight we were meeting on a close vote regarding repairs to the main building and a whole new scheme for this school—moving it into the twentieth century."

William looked around at the beautiful library with its coffered ceiling, leaded-glass arched windows, banks of quarter-sawn oak shelving and tall wainscoting, with thick sound-absorbing carpets over polished oak floors the colour of whiskey. The smell of books and arched windows reminded him of the fine library at his own school, but the comparison ended there: this whole room was a Tudor throw back. _Moving into the twentieth century must be a metaphor,_ he thought.

"Certainly there should be no controversy about making repairs? That would be part of the trustee's duty," William inquired.

"Quite. Maintenance has been deferred for a very long time in the absence of enough cash to do a proper job, so it is going to be extensive. Now we have the necessary funds and a window of time in which to spend them, so while we are at it we are planning to vote to create additional dormitory space for female students. _That_ was controversial, let me tell you.' He waved his hand dismissively. "Before you ask, I cannot imagine the disagreement, while fierce, would rise to the point of homicide. He was loyal to the school and had been a student here. One son already graduated and is in college. Another, young Connor, is still a student here. This was a tragic accident, and his family will be devastated. "

By the time William and the constables completed initial interviews with all eight remaining trustees, the current Headmaster and the grounds-keeping staff of three, it was full dark, the temperature had dropped and it was raining hard. The stories matched, everyone agreeing that Josiah McNaughton was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The trustees were going home for the evening, planning on returning to complete their business the following day.

William and George packed up for the ride back to Station House No. 4, going over their notes. "I saw nothing that indicated a pry bar was used on the stone, but it was very dark, _and wet,"_ George complained. "Rain washed away most of the trace evidence, but…I did collect this for you as you asked…" George handed over a small packet of grainy material. "I scraped it from the parapet."

"Thank you George. Tomorrow we will go over the autopsy report and check out these names," William tapped his notebook. 'But for once this seems simple, and dreadful, enough. But not criminal."

George smiled. "That makes this a better day then doesn't it, Sir?"

William's thoughts travelled to the events of the past twenty-four hours and he put a smile on his face for George's sake. Then the carriage, which has rolled along so evenly, jolted suddenly nearly dashing the camera on the floor. _Just as my day has gone_ , he thought, but answered only: "Perhaps…"

The remainder of the ride back to Wilton Street was in companionable silence, each man lost in his own thoughts: George to his literary creation and William to the complicated business of family.

* * *

At a quarter to nine, Julia's ride pulled up to the hotel, and this time she allowed the doorman to assist her out of the carriage. Walking up to their suite, she wondered when William would be back, still resentful that they had been interrupted before, and knowing that a particularly passionate moment had been lost.

 _Given that there's been so few of those recently, it's no wonder I'm bitter about that. For the first time in quite a while, William was going to have his way with me, unprompted. It's a lost opportunity that's going to be damned near impossible to recover._

Of course, the meeting with the Crown Prosecutor had done nothing to alleviate her increasingly sour mood at her ruined evening, yet she had managed to conduct herself with the utmost professionalism and cordiality in dealing with the pompous bastard, managing to withhold any caustic comments about their own tenuous past.

If there was a bright side to her dark mood, it was that the Crown Prosecutor had been made nervous by her bluntness. The man was in need of her expertise and knowledge, and she relished in the power she had held over him, enjoying the deviation from the circumstances of their previous encounters.

Pouring herself a glass of wine, she made a small plate from the forgotten dinner cart and debated whether or not to send it back when she decided that when William did return home, he might be hungry enough that long-cold food might seem palatable.

Walking into the bedroom, Julia wasted no time in shedding her clothes and corset, enjoying the air that hit her nude body. Deciding to enjoy her natural state as well as the lovely evening cooled off by virtue of a passing shower, she opted to forego nightwear in its entirety and maybe even spur her husband into "lying with her" even if the likelihood of begetting children were infinitesimal.

Climbing into bed, she luxuriated in the feel of the crisp cotton against her bare skin as she spread her limbs out, before the events of the day once again caught up with her, her mood immediately sobering.

 _It always comes back to children, the proverbial elephant in the room, doesn't it?_ Was this issue the source of recent tension in their relationship? It's true that they were happy enough in their marriage, thoroughly enjoying one another's companionship, but they didn't seem to enjoy one another's bodies as much as they used to, and quite frankly she felt its absence keenly. William's passion and desire for her had once been so ardent and strong, but it wasn't what it used to be, and Julia had been struggling to name exactly when and why that was. Roland had suddenly entered their lives a year previously, and initially, their lives had been consumed with instant parenthood, and transitioning from a family of two to three. This had been understandable and expected even. It had been a bit of a rough start, but then, most families have several months to prepare for such an event rather than the mere minutes they'd had. Then there had been the grieving period over Roland's loss, and then shortly after that, she'd been shot.

They had come a long way in their healing process, but to say that things were not what they'd once been was an understatement.

Sighing, she wrapped herself around William's pillow in an attempt to alleviate her longing for him and forced her mind to focus, as she felt that the solution was at hand. Prior to marriage, William had been a perfect gentleman, but even then, there had been occasional cracks in his deportment, which she had relished in provoking. Every time he'd been inappropriate with her, every suggestive comment he'd made, every time she caught a glimpse of the occasionally naughty and playful boy within had been a true delight. After they had married, this was the William that she'd enjoyed in the privacy of their suite, and it had been blissful.

But as time passed, so had his hopes for a child, and Julia knew that he was acutely aware that the opportunity to be the father he wanted to be was slipping away, so their failures with the adoption boards had to be increasing that stress. Whether he silently blamed her or not, she conceded that she was undoubtedly responsible for denying him his long held dream of a family.

The man had been orphaned as a young boy for all intents and purposes, and while she wanted him to figure it out on his own, Julia knew precisely why he wanted a son, and it had nothing to do with a disregard for females or girls. _He wants to be the father that he never had! He longs to love a son in a way that his father never did for him! He needs to heal a wound inflicted long ago, and here you have just bollocked that up for him yet again!_

Sighing she flopped straight onto her back as the shame washed over her. _Whether he acknowledges it or not, you are responsible for denying him this desire for a family. Quite damnable really, when the man has gone to hell and back to give you every little thing you have always desired, and has only asked for you and a child to accompany him on his life's journey._ Her mind raced to think of a way to repair the damage she'd done at today's meeting, and of course she could write the Diocesan adoption board a letter first thing in the morning, explaining that the whole thing had been a misunderstanding, and she had no reservations about the child being raised Catholic or receiving a Catholic education so long as it did not mean sending the child away to school.

But why had agreeing to that initially bothered her so? Why was she sabotaging their attempts to bring a child into their lives?

In frustration, her mind scattered in a million different directions and for some unknown reason she remembered a long ago memory, one of the first times William had been almost lewd with her. Years ago when they had worked the murder of a man who had been prominent within circles that promoted the idea of Eugenics, their conversation had quickly turned to a sexual nature and Mr. Propriety had actually leered at her! There had been no mistaking his intent, and despite how exciting it had initially been to hear him speak so clearly of his scandalous intentions toward her, it had eventually proven disquieting to know that not only had he fantasized about being with her physically, he'd been imagining her pregnant with his child. She still recalled every word of that conversation clearly, and ultimately, the event had factored prominently in her decision to leave both Toronto and William when it became clear that she was never going to be able to fulfill the future he desired, and she knew, he deserved.

Of course, he'd eventually convinced her that he didn't need the biological child, and Julia supposed that was true. But, given his arousal and the suddenly renewed passion he'd demonstrated earlier this evening, she knew the thought of getting her pregnant still excited him, and seeing as she had just possibly destroyed one of the best remaining ways to obtain a child, perhaps it was time to consider recent advances in medicine that may allow her to safely carry and deliver a child to term.

If she were to be honest, the thought of bearing and presenting him with a child was a pleasant one as the baby would be a tangible product of their love. Not only would the actual act of conception be enjoyable, but she would also love to see William's reaction to her pregnancy, and the changes it made on her body; something she suspected would arouse him further and that he'd chart with keen interest. Of course, this journey would also result in their child, hopefully a boy.

She had already discussed the possibility with William, who had been adamant that the risks were unacceptable, so she dropped the idea. Lately, however, the notion was pressing her mind again, but there were so many questions to still be answered.

 _Am I willing to take the chance? Can I even conceive? Even if I do, will I be able carry the child to term? Is there a way to mitigate any risks? Am I too old to even consider a foolish venture? Given recent events, will this be a palatable choice for William now?_

Sighing, she made a mental note to contact Isaac tomorrow for an examination and to get an expert opinion on what her options really were. This she would do right after she wrote her letter to the Diocesan Adoption Board and attempt to repair the damage she had wrought earlier. Exhaling slowly and looking at the clock, she saw that it was now half past nine, and that given the weather, William should be home soon. Deciding to invite him to finish what he had started earlier, she rolled a nipple between her fingers before allowing her hand to trail down to her thighs, thinking of an old but favorite fantasy of her husband striding into the morgue unannounced yet demanding his way with her on her desk, pinning her in place against the wall for his personal delectation. Immediately, she felt her body respond and fervently hoped that William really would arrive home soon, so that a fantasy wouldn't be necessary.

When he finally did arrive home a few minutes later, she called out to him from their bed, her request plainly clear.

Whatever William had been expecting to find was not what he was actually greeted with. Lying spread eagled across their bed, was his wife, completely nude and pleasuring herself, clearly lying in wait for him.

"Come husband, you promised earlier that you would lie with your wife so that we may beget a child together," she entreated.

Though his mind struggled to absorb her strange turn of phrase, he clearly wasn't about to deny the vision before him or initiate the conversation he crafted in his head while returning to her from the death scene. Watching her pleasure herself for a few moments was a delight, and he stood transfixed as he reminded himself to ask her what she had meant afterwards. For now however, he could not disrobe himself fast enough so that he could perform his own pleasurable duty with his wife.


	3. Chapter 3

Breakfast the next morning, _chez Murdoch_ , was a hurried affair of toast and tea, giving them no time to talk about anything of importance over breakfast and the morning papers. Precipitation from the night before was replaced by a glorious summer morning, so Julia proposed they walk to work, necessitating getting up and out quickly to arrive on time by eight o'clock. William left it unsaid that he valued punctuality as well as evading any embarrassing speculation about the origins of his tardiness: _Which would be accurate this morning_ , he recognized with a small self-satisfied grin. _Especially since I called George out on needing an Eaton's alarm clock of his own…_

As they walked arm in arm, William took the opportunity to fill his wife in on the Sommerbank Academy death (including that James Pendrick was a school trustee) and his plans for the day, while Julia expressed some excitement about showing Miss James how to reassemble the skull.

"Did you know, William, I actually wanted to go to Sommerbank?" She asked. "It was the most academically rigorous of schools, and I put up quite a campaign with my family to be admitted because I wanted my choice of university afterwards."

Her husband's eyebrows lifted. It was unlike Julia not to get her way in things, so he had to ask. "I am surprised then, that you did not go."

She frowned in remembrance. "That was before they admitted girls to the upper classes. There were important, impenetrable male bastions even for teenaged boys it seems back in those days. Sommerbank Academy did not begin to admit girls for college-preparation until I was already enrolled at Bishop Strachan School, with my mother's blessing. After that I decided the stuffy old boy's school did not deserve me…!" She laughed at herself. "Of course, it turned out that a single-gender school was better for academic focus with young women as the boys from Sommerbank were enough of a distraction for the girls, and we didn't even attend the same school. Let's just say that fewer distractions and a more academically competitive environment afforded by a single sex education were extremely beneficial to me. I was quite inspired by our Lady Principal, Mrs. Thompson-she encouraged our imaginations and our sense of freedom."

William grunted. That had certainly not been _his_ experience, at least not after he left Aunt Emily's house for his first semester at St. Ignatius in Fredericton. He had very clear, uncomfortable memories of being beaten by the Headmaster, Father O'Brien, for a bewildering variety of infractions. It had taken quite a while to figure out how to avoid violating the rules, _or elude being caught!_ He doubted either James' or Julia's Heads-of-School resorted to physical punishment as a corrective, or allowed it, considering the wealth and privilege of the average student who attended their respective institutions. There was no such curb placed on the masters at his school—lay and ordained teachers alike used corporal punishment freely.

He envisioned someone trying to sanction Julia, it warming his heart to imagine her defiance. "Perhaps it is just as well you did not go." He chuckled. "James Gillies went to Sommerbank Academy before being expelled, and there was that death of Marguerite Brown at the hands of her supposed sweetheart, another student. I cannot imagine feeling comfortable sending our child to such a place."

"Hmmm, nor can I. Or certainly not our daughter…" she mused. "While I dislike much about Sommerbank, perhaps it would be an option when we consider where to educate our son. He certainly wouldn't receive a finer education anywhere else," she offered with a shrug. "Besides, while I think a single sex education is preferable for a girl, I would like for our son to be educated _with_ girls, so that he may see their intelligence and their ability and not think himself superior to them, especially if the Academy admits girls on an equal footing with boys and girls attend all classes without discrimination," she added.

William's brow wrinkled in thought. He'd never really considered how male-oriented his own education had been and whether, on balance it helped or hindered him. It certainly meant he had very little practical knowledge of the fairer sex beyond his sister Susannah, his mother and his aunt Emily. He had no personal relationships at all with girls while he was a student nor of any substance with women as an adult until he met Mrs. Kitchen, who took a motherly attitude towards him. Logging and ranching did not lend themselves to mixed gender situations unless that meant a bordello (which he avoided,) or a tavern on the weekend, an indulgence he permitted himself only rarely. It was not until he joined St. Paul's and started work at the constabulary that he scraped any genuine social acquaintances with females. He smiled involuntarily about the context of some of those encounters: meeting streetwalkers on the job and securing proper introductions to upright virgins at church, were initially challenging juxtapositions.

William thought Julia might be making a pitch for an alternative to a Catholic education for their child, _son or daughter_ , and he realized it was not just the academic rigor of Sommerbank or the deep benefits of a Catholic education that were important. His all-male education gave him role models for life that undid so much of his early experiences of a drunken, violent father. Having exposure to a broad selection of peers in an egalitarian environment counted toward his development into a mature individual. "Julia. I believe I would prefer our son or daughter to have a single-gender education at least for secondary school."

He recalled his own father did not want him to go to school; in retrospect this was likely because his father felt insecure about the influence the teachers could, and certainly did, have, thinking: _Thank goodness!_ William continued. "But it would need to be the right kind of school, with the right kind of teachers who will impose discipline with kindness, and who, whether we like it or not, will have an equal or greater influence on him or her than we do." He pulled her hand up to his chest and kissed her knuckles. "I dare say you would not be the woman you are today nor I the man I have become without our experiences with our peers." He paused, working his thoughts out loud. "I also would not wish my child to attend a school where he or she did not feel accepted. A Catholic education gives our child peers who will not denigrate his or her faith, and a single-gender situation will help him or her flower academically with positive role models. Surely that is not so abhorrent?"

Julia walked by his side for several paces. "I hear your conclusions, William, and appreciate your logic." She gave an exasperated sigh. "However, wouldn't having one non-Catholic parent at such a place put him or her in the same position you just described? Furthermore, I would prefer to know your experiences and the reasons beneath them, especially since you appear to assume, just like the Diocesan adoption board, that a Catholic education is preferable. I am still not sure I whole-heartedly agree…

 _It never occurred to me this would be an issue between us—and it certainly never occurred to me that we'd be at odds about this before we ever took possession of a child!_ Julia made a face. _While I suppose that raising the child as a Catholic_ _ **would**_ _be a given, since I solemnly promised to do so before marrying him, how could he have assumed that I wouldn't have concerns or an input about his or her education, considering how valuable we both find it to be?_

# # #

William deposited Julia at the street entrance to the morgue, and arrived at his desk in Station House No. 4 precisely at eight o'clock to organize his day. Mr. McNaughton's wife, Gertrude, was expected at the morgue around eleven o'clock or a little later to positively identify her husband's body, and then have a brief interview with him at the station house.

William was hoping to have the exact cause and time of death established by then, since Julia was planning to complete the autopsy, run basic toxicology and seek trace evidence from the body this morning. The portion of the building which ended Mr. McNaughton's life sat on William's work table waiting to be examined.

In the meanwhile, he set constables to do some background checks on the Academy and took up the task of examining the photographs George took and the bits of mortar scraped from the building's roof. Starting with the photographs, William selected the ones that represented the crime scene best and the condition of the roof. He was impressed with the quality of the images, and told George as much.

George smiled in pleasure, his large eyes crinkling as well. "Thank you sir. It was the dickens to get up to that roof, especially with my equipment. The groundskeeper led me through a veritable labyrinth of catwalks and ladders, through several locked doors requiring enormous keys to undo. It's a good thing I am not afraid of dizzying heights because I felt like I was climbing that new French tower in Paris, through the black iron lattice-work of a giant's leg. No wonder the school did not know about the condition of the roof, going through all that. Then there was the stormy wind and the rain…"

William cut him off gently to avoid any more melodramatic embellishment. George had been doing some reading recently in service of his next literary ambition, but William despaired at his choice of inspiration: currently embodied by the English novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton. "Thank you, George. So you would say it would be a chore to get up there? And all the doors were locked, requiring a special key. Nothing appeared tampered with?"

George thought about it. "No sir. I don't believe the locks and hinges had been oiled in a decade." He reached over to tap one of the photographs the detective pinned to his blackboard. "As you can see here, there is some crumble of mortar that was deposited behind the stonework. You can see the spalling of the bricks and a great crack in this other piece of stone as well. Having the flash actually helped identify the area—might not be seen if one was not up close in other circumstances."

Looking with a magnifier, William concurred. "Good work again. That makes it unlikely someone could have dislodged the stone on purpose to crush Mr. McNaughton."

"Agreed sir. And think of the timing, to get it over and on the man at the precise moment necessary as he walked by," George observed. "What are the chances?"

* * *

Sitting down at a worktable near, but not directly next to the surgical table, Julia allowed her mind to wander as Miss James began the autopsy under Julia's proud supervision. She was quite pleased with her protégé's progress, and decided to allow Miss James the educational opportunity since the cause of death in this case wasn't really an issue. This way she was close enough should a problem or question arise, but not so close as to make Miss James nervous. With education being one of the most relevant topics to both her and William for a multitude of reasons at present, Julia allowed her mind to dwell on recent events. It did not take long for her mind to drift back to her own childhood as she determined which school to attend to further her education.

Her father had been of the opinion that both Julia and Ruby should be educated at home; the same manner in which most girls were taught, until such time a finishing school was appropriate for the both of them. However, the times were changing, and Elizabeth Gowan Ogden, who had not had such opportunities herself, had made it a point to repeatedly remind her husband Lionel that there were now opportunities for both of her daughters to receive the finest of educations should they desire as such.

And Julia _definitely_ had desired as such. Rather than eventually growing bored of playing doctor with her friends, pets, and dolls, Julia's desires instead grew into the desire to practice medicine as a vocation, a dream her mother had supported, as opposed to quelling it. Buoyed by stories of Elizabeth Blackwell and Emily Stowe, Julia dreamt of opportunities that these women had created for her, and as such, fully intended to follow in their footsteps. When it came time to select an institution that would best prepare her for university, her mother encouraged her to choose Bishop Strachan School, and the selection was well chosen. Founded when girls were not yet able to attend any university in Canada, the school still sought to prepare them for such future endeavors, as they believed that it was only a brief matter of time before Canadian institutions accepted them.

Julia did well at the school, where the girls were challenged to be more than slaves to the latest fashions, and after completing her studies there, went on to study medicine at Bishop's College in Montreal after studying Chemistry at the University of Toronto despite her mother's death when Julia was just 19. However, she and Ruby inherited her mother's fortune with the caveat that it was to ensure educations for the girls, and though her father made it known that he disapproved of Julia's chosen path, he would not stop her.

Tuning back into the autopsy, Julia smiled at the work Miss James was performing. Though Rebecca was not yet as quick as _she_ was, Julia knew the young woman would perform tasks with more speed as she gained experience and confidence. Sponsoring the woman's medical education was something Julia was proud of, and she knew her mother would approve of it as well.

* * *

Julia called William to the morgue just past eleven-fifteen. He proceeded down the runway and made one cautious glance at the sheet-covered gurney resting in the center of the morgue under the newly installed lights. The corpse's outline was gruesome: a large, rotund figure from the toes to where the head _should_ have been, then…nothing. William cleared his throat and gave his attention to the ladies. The cause of death was hardly a surprise: blunt force trauma to the head. Miss James explained there was no obvious evidence of foul play. Stomach contents and initial toxicology offered no poisoning, and the autopsy showed a well-developed man in his fifties with the beginning ailments of old age and wealth: gout, diabetes and coronary artery disease, none of which contributed to his demise. Julia turned over Mr. McNaughton's effects, clothing, watch and papers. The only oddment was a string of numbers written out on a small sheet of common stationary. William copied the numbers down in his notebook, **"00-10-04-00-02-00-50-00-20-80-40-09-00-04,"** and collected the page.

For the sake of thoroughness, William asked, "No sign of robbery? And you are certain this is Mr. McNaughton?"

"No robbery, detective," answered Miss James. "We are going to have his wife here in a few minutes to do the official identification, but I have no doubt this is the man. Dr. Ogden and I will be attempting to reconstruct the skull later today." Miss James could not help excitement from entering her voice at the prospect.

"And time of death?" he inquired.

Julia answered. "Between four-thirty and six o'clock yesterday afternoon. Do you have any evidence of foul play on your end, William?"

"No, I do not. It seems as if it is a tragic accident after all, or something James Pendrick called _Karma."_

# # #

"Accident!? Accident my foot!" Gertrude McNaughton's voice penetrated into Inspector Brackenreid's office and disturbed his concentration. _Bloody hell,_ he griped.

He expected a sorrowful widow, not an old battle-axe that had been brought back to life and came out swinging. Brackenreid surmised the interview with Detective Murdoch was not going well. First the widow complained that she could not see her husband's body, the _whole_ body. Dr. Ogden had tried to suggest this was not a sight for most people's stomach, but if she insisted as the next of kin, she should surely wish to spare her son the ordeal. _Poppycock!_ she declared. When she had viewed the ravaged skull, instead of being sickened she became enraged—mostly at her husband, then at the school. The furor continued for all to hear, for some reason now directed at the constabulary in general and William Murdoch in particular, only ending when the woman, a squat figure swathed in black bombazine and veil, slammed out of Murdoch's office and blew past the sergeant's desk and onto the street with her white-faced fifteen year old son, Connor, in tow.

 _Only Murdoch!_ Groaning, he took his glasses off and shoved himself up out of the chair to his door, opened it and shouted across the bullpen. "Murdoch!"

His detective entered with his colour still up and trying to explain how he lost control of the interview. "Save it, Murdoch, it's not your fault. I heard the gist of the thing." He wiggled a finger in his ear for emphasis. "What are the details she is going on about?" Brackenreid gestured for William to be seated.

William sat on the black leather couch, put one ankle across the other knee, then took in a deep breath. "It seems Mrs. McNaughton blames her husband and the school for his death—she is charging negligence. She plans to sue and expects the constabulary, myself in particular to offer depositions or testimony to that effect. I tried to explain we handle criminal cases only…"

"Ah, yes. Her grief must be 'monetized' I believe the term is. Are you sure there was no foul play? That the sodding building just up and fell on him?" Brackenreid asked, trying to decide if the widow went out of the station house and directly to the newspaper or not.

"I have no evidence to the contrary. There is a history of the façade breaking loose due to deferred maintenance. Constable Crabtree has looked at the roof and it is unlikely someone could have dropped the masonry on the victim. Julia and Miss James are reconstructing the skull, although that is going to be a difficult matter, especially since the widow wants the body to bury right away. I have not examined the stone yet, nor the roof personally, but all the evidence points that way." William's blood pressure was dropping to more normal limits and his hearing was clearing up as well from the widow's onslaught.

The inspector put his hands together and leaned forward over his desk. "I think you need to go back and do your due diligence by having another look 'round at the school. I know these types of people, Murdoch. There is going to be hell to pay about this. It is one thing for a scholarship boy to get injured and paid to keep his mouth shut, quite another for one of the gentry to get himself killed. Find out if the school is insured and who holds the policy and take a look at who their attorney is. This will hit the press and solicitors and barristers are about to be involved, eh? Better keep our end clean….All the bloody lawyers." He muttered as he shook his head. "What's the line from Henry VI?"

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. Dick the Butcher, Henry VI, Part II, Act IV, Scene ll." William answered automatically. "But that is…"

"Yes, I know. That is a misinterpretation. Lawyers in those days kept law and order and served justice in society. Well, that's our job now." Brackenreid winked. "Go do it."

* * *

William went back to his office in a thoughtful frame of mind, only slightly relieved by his superior's words. William examined the heavy piece of façade under his magnifier and matched the mortar still clinging to it to the sample. The mortar for bricks had been poorly made; stiffening to the point that the associated bricks swelled with moisture then the freeze/thaw cycle weakened the bricks. Then for the cornice elements, the mortar was too loose, never intended to glue the pieces together. Eventually it allowed too much water to seep in, weakening the joints. No one needed to push the stone over, eventually the weight would overcome friction and down it would go. He supposed yesterday was as good a day as any.

William examined the man's clothing as well. The bespoke suit was fine summer wool, with the front of it completely covered in grass stains and soil, but essentially unremarkable. His watch was first rate as was were his studs and cufflinks—all as expected. The note with numbers that had been found in McNaughton's right coat pocket, had suffered from contact with the ground before the body was moved, so William left it safely dry in his office.

On his chalkboard he wrote out the facts of the death as he knew them and made a list of questions that could be answered by a return visit to the school.

William called George over, reviewed the facts of the case and asked the constable to accompany him. He'd had no intention of being less than thorough no matter what Brackenreid advised, and as it turned out, if they moved along they could just about make it back to the school in time for the trustee meeting, allowing for some follow up questions he'd been accumulating.

William convinced George that taking the bicycles would be efficient, so off they went. The ride was pleasant and prompted George to try engage William in conversation, something William often felt awkward about, but as he was relaxed and the day was beautiful he decided to indulge him.

"So, sir," George began, "what is a college-preparatory school and why would someone need one? Especially an expensive one like Sommerbank?"

"That is a very good question, George. I suppose it is way to help guarantee acceptance at the college of your choice by making sure you are well prepared academically." As soon as William said that he recognized that was rather obvious, so he tried again. "The average person has no need for college. Six or seven years of schooling used to be sufficient, now ten is considered better, although in the working classes that standard is nearly uniformly violated. If one can read and write and do simple math…that is more than enough to get along in this world. These days if one wishes to attend college, the admission standards are high and colleges are selective about whom they admit, but except for certain occupations, college is not needed for success. Look at yourself, for instance. You stopped at the fourth form, have a good job and are a published author without needing college at all."

"Yes. That is true. You did not go either, yet if I may say so, I have seldom met a better educated person than yourself, sir. However, I can see a future where most people go to university rather than only the few. Imagine it sir! Universal higher education for all, would that not be splendid?!"

William silently shook his head at such an unrealistic notion, but as George rhapsodized, William recalled the decision he made to leave St. Ignatius and launch himself into the world. At the time he would have given, _almost_ anything, for the chance to have continued on to university. Then it struck him: if he had done such a thing, he would have missed the chance to have Julia in his life…

 _The Lord works in mysterious ways indeed…_

* * *

The shouting was easily heard as soon as William and George come up the front steps through the heavy right-hand door and into the vestibule of the Academy. Polished granite floors and steps amplified the voices emanated from the library down a long hall to the left of the entrance. To the right was an office then a large light-filled hall crammed with desks and a twin of the library's fireplace (minus the intimidating portrait.) William was contented to wait and eavesdrop, sifting through the unguarded conversation for additional information while waiting on the groundskeeper and his keys. William and George looked at each other in surprise that there was any dissent, let alone acrimony about funding repairs, considering what had happened. In short order it became obvious that was not what the argument was about.

" _You will have the prestige of this venerable institution diluted by admitting even more weak-minded ladies"…"Yes. What about our traditions?" "Mr. McNaughton was definitely voting against it." "What devilment will happen when those girls board here…they cannot possibly be here to help them get a university degree!" "Here-here! They will only enroll to snag husbands, derailing the boys' futures!"_

The other side of the argument was more persuasive to William's mind, and equally loudly debated.

 _"_ _Our daughters are equally entitled as our sons to an education!" "Women will be admitted to all universities soon enough and why should they not come from our school?" "Families want all their children at one school …And will pay tuition for the privilege." "We have the money now to save the school and that is our fiduciary duty and the whole purpose of trustees to ensure the continuation of the Sommerbank…" "Josiah was going to vote for it..."_

William was pleased to hear that James Pendrick was on the side of voting for adding dormitories and admitting girls as boarders. He stationed George on a chair just outside of the library when the groundskeeper arrived with his keys, leaving his hat behind as well. "Keep an eye out and your ears open, George; take note of who enters and who leaves. I will be back shortly," he said over his shoulder, as he followed the elderly gentleman who introduced himself as Francis.

George had not exaggerated, for once, about the difficulty getting to the roof, even more so for the arthritic groundskeeper. He _did_ forget to mention the other reason it took so long was the groundskeeper's debilitated health. Eventually Francis, who explained to William he had been employed by the school for near-on thirty years, delivered William to the final set of stairs and pointed skyward. He granted William the keys in exchange for a promise to lock back up, allowing the poor man to slowly, painfully make his way down.

When he cracked open the final door to the roof, William was presented with an intensely verdant sight northward. The small flat roof area, nestled between various sections of wall and what seemed to be clerestory windows was bracketed by architectural details. Dead center, on the outside wall was a gap in the stonework. William pushed the heavy door fully aside to get closer when the door swung forcefully back at him, knocking him off balance and down the stairs. The slim bannister was all that prevented a nasty fall. William heard the scramble of feet through crushed stone and a sound like a window slamming shut. He righted himself and put his shoulder into the door again, banging it open and getting a foothold on the small roof. He looked to his right—a set of windows sat recessed in shadows. He saw a blur of movement beyond the glass, and knew someone was making their escape. Thinking fast, William found the closest window and traced the edges to pull it open, but the pane resisted his fingers. He got his penknife out and slid a blade underneath the window latch, jiggling it up and out of its catch. The window yawned, and he fit his hips and shoulders through the opening, briefly thankful he'd made an effort at shedding some of the weight the Windsor Hotel's cook put on him.

He fell onto a small open ledge that ran under a ribbon of clerestory windows high up on the north wall of the chapel. Down below were rows of wooden pews arranged with a center aisle. A stage of sorts was at the front, boasting a lectern and small organ. The other end of the space was occupied by a choir loft. A gold-leaf cross was fixed prominently behind the lectern; for all its supposed non-sectarian characteristics, Sommerbank was an Anglican institution. William knew it took a non-Protestant to correctly understand this. All of this he absorbed instantly while seeking his quarry. At the end of the high ledge was a small door which was just closing. William moved along the ledge as fast as he could, trying to keep his balance and not look down the seventy-five feet to the chapel floor. When he reached the opening and stooped through it, he found himself on a tiny landing above a long wooden ladder. At the bottom, William saw a shadow heading for another door—and was gone.

* * *

Though Julia had intended to start her day with writing a letter to the Diocesan adoption board she had instead been inundated with tasks, including hurrying to assist Miss James in completing the autopsy of Mr. McNaughton, and readying the tissue samples for toxicology analysis. By lunchtime however, most of the tasks she'd needed to tackle in the morgue had been completed, and she was finally able to take a breather and think about more personal matters.

She had meant to write a letter explaining that she had misunderstood their question, but she now wondered if she should do so without speaking with William first as the last thing she wanted to do was make the matter worse. _Of course, there's also the matter that my initial concerns over religious education and academics have not been answered... No, definitely best to wait for William's input._

Of course, there was also the matter of her other task, and one she wasn't as reticent to undertake. Picking up the phone, she rang Isaac's office and managed to get a late afternoon appointment. _Even though the exam will be unpleasant and I fear that I may receive an unfavorable response, at least I will have the opportunity to see my old friend._ Walking over to her phonograph and putting on Beethoven's 9th Symphony, she returned to her desk and straightening her desk blotter, she picked up her pen and began work on the written version of her preliminary findings for Mr. McNaughton's autopsy.

# # #

With the exam completed, and his nurse having taken his place to assist her in redressing, she left the exam room and met Isaac in his parlor, where a generous drink had already been prepared for her.

"A nice, large drink, Isaac?" she asked as she took it and settled down in a chair for the results. "Are you preparing me for bad news, or have you decided to sufficiently impair me so that you may take advantage of me?" she asked with a grin as she sipped the drink.

Laughing he shook his head, "I'm not necessarily going to tell you anything you don't already know, and if I'd decided that I was going to give women a chance, don't you think I would have done so with you years ago?" he asked, clinking his glass with hers with a smile of his own.

"Things still going well with Reginald, then?" she asked, taking a sip. Julia quite liked Mr. Poundsett and approved of the liaison.

"They are indeed, Julia. We've come to a nice, agreeable arrangement. We're currently speaking of building a hunting cottage together somewhere north of the city, where we may undertake appropriately masculine pursuits such as sports, hunting, and fishing and no one would ever be the wiser," he informed her with a smirk.

"Most splendid, Isaac. I wish you two every happiness, and once it's completed, you must invite William and I as the occasional houseguests to remove any hint of impropriety or potential scandal," she said, raising a glass to his happiness.

"Yes, while I believe you when you say your husband has changed considerably in that regard over the years, sleeping under the same roof with us might be a bit too much for him still, don't you think?" he replied with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, let's get to the point you came here today, shall we? I know you said Detective Murdoch was aware that you were most likely unable to have children and swore he loved you regardless, but has he been hinting? Has he asked you to seek a second opinion in this regard?" Isaac asked.

"No, Isaac. He does not know I'm here, and while we had discussed trying for a child previously, he was adamant that the risks were too great, if you must know. I'm simply here as a regular woman, one who wants to make a child with her husband, and one who wants to know if such a thing were even possible," Julia quickly explained.

"Well then, I'll cut straight to the chase then. It's not impossible, though it won't be easy for you. Your cervix has scarred in such a manner that I may remove most of the scar tissue in a simple procedure. Your age will certainly do you no favors, but it's not unheard of for a woman of your years to conceive. As for the actual act of conception, frequent relations with the Detective will certainly increase the likelihood of success given that they occur during ovulation, but then you already know this," he offered, taking a sip of his own drink.

"That I did, Isaac," Julia nodded. "Really I'm not surprised, but I am disappointed, I suppose."

Silence briefly descended upon the room until Isaac piped in again. "I'm not finished, Julia. I can't guarantee success or a completely risk free endeavor, but once I remove the excess scar tissue, I can better evaluate whether or not your cervix would properly dilate and be better able to inform you as to whether or not you could deliver naturally, or if we had to consider one of Kehrer's low horizontal incisions, which in my opinion is far preferable to Sänger's vertical incision," he further explained.

"Furthermore, I have read of the work of a Dutch physician named Hendrik Van de Velde who has had success in predicting when a woman is most fertile based on her body temperature. You would need to chart your temperature every day first thing in the morning before you rise, and in theory, you would eventually notice that on the days you are most fertile, your temperature would be higher. It's known as Basal Body Temperature, and as for the rest, well, I'll leave that you and the Detective," Isaac winked.

"Well, there is that small detail of actually conceiving, Isaac. I must say that since I haven't done so by now does not bode well, but if I were to know when I was at most fertile, well, that's certainly a start," Julia smiled.

"Something I think you'll find no distaste in doing, my dearest Julia. I must admit that I am somewhat jealous of you repeatedly enjoying his affections for he is most attractive even if he is rather closed-minded. Even if you fail to meet with success, I'm sure that you'll find the venture most enjoyable," he grinned.

"Oh, I intend to, dear Isaac, I intend to. Repeatedly," she laughed.

Pensive for a moment, the conversation lulled into an expectant silence as Julia absorbed the news. "Am I more fertile in the mornings as well? Or does it include the entire day?" she inquired.

"I'm not quite certain, but there are certainly worse ways of beginning one's day. Additionally, I suppose you could always hedge your bets on these days and enjoy multiple encounters. Perhaps the two of you could sneak off during the luncheon hour to feast upon one another's bodies," he cheekily offered.

Snorting her whiskey up her nose, Julia laughed out loud for the first time in a long while. How she had needed this diversion in light of everything she had endured the past few months. How wonderful it was to be outrageous with a friend who truly understood you.

"Isaac Tash, you wicked man! Besides, you wouldn't be trying to live vicariously through me now, would you?" she teased in return, trying to elicit a blush from him as he had just done from her.

"Not at all, Dear Julia, I simply know how much my friend enjoys physical relations with a physically attractive specimen," he lightly replied, secure in the knowledge that Julia had failed to scandalize him in return.

"But enough about babies, Isaac, scandalize me further with what happened at Judith Langley's Dominion Day party. Is it true that her husband not only invited one mistress, but two?

"Oh yes, Julia. Of course the first mistress was a poorly kept secret that of course we all knew about, but it was astounding that apparently there was another woman in his life, and it was quite the spectacle to discover that neither woman had not known of the existence of the other one, and both were most upset to discover as such," he excitedly told her.

"I am most sorry I missed it, I didn't want to attend without William, and he wasn't keen on going. Next time, I will attend whether he does or not," she promised.

"It was truly most amusing, but the best part was Judith seemed more put out that he had chosen to let each of the women know about their competition more than their existence. " _Really, Harold, couldn't you have chosen to indulge that little delight at the Dominion Club next week? Now you've distracted from the rest of the evening_!" Isaac drawled in an affected voice, laughing at his own imitation as Julia giggled at the divertissement….


	4. Chapter 4

When William finally returned, hot and sweaty, to the Station House, Miss James was already waiting for him. Riding bicycles to Sommerbank Academy might have started out pleasant enough, but after traipsing up to the roof not once, but twice searching for clues and scouring the building for his would-be assailant, followed by interviews in a stuffy office, William's suit could have been wrung out, and George was nearly perishing with the heat. William desperately wanted to change his shirt, but Miss James insisted the information could not wait. William kept himself planted on the other side of the desk with the windows behind him wide open, and politely gestured for her to sit. She declined, obviously curbing her desire to bounce a bit on her feet in anticipation.

"Detective Murdoch. Dr. Ogden has been showing me how to reconstruct Mr. McNaughton's skull and I have found an interesting piece of evidence." Her brown face and eyes shone in excitement. She produced a curved piece of bone and rattled on quickly, trying to come to his side of the desk to show him her treasure. "As you can see here, there are fracture lines…"

"I imagine that is to be expected, considering…" William unconsciously made a slight smashing motion with one hand. Miss James offered a magnifier for him hold instead.

She handed him the piece of skull for his other hand, which she had stained brown with walnut. "Yes, but see here. This radiating fracture is not consistent with the rest of them, as it is slightly concave _and_ …"she raised her voice a bit to get her point across, "I found this in the flesh right above the wound."

William received a sliver of wood in his palm. Under the magnifier it seemed to be a dense-grained species. He looked at her for analysis and raised his eyebrows.

"I believe this indicates he was struck in the head by a wooden object." She smiled proudly and stood back at attention.

"Miss James, that is interesting but there are other explanations for this result. For instance, there was a tree root or other detritus on the ground with which his head connected. You have a piece of information, but it is not yet evidence, and you have no context for it. What does Dr. Ogden think?" William did wonder if Julia sent Miss James over to give her the opportunity to report on her finding.

Miss James face fell slightly. "Dr. Ogden is out at an appointment late this afternoon, detective. I thought it wise to tell you this information as soon as possible."

William smiled at her efforts and wanted to be gracious. "Have you finished the reconstruction?" He thought that would have been remarkable if she had, and was only slightly disappointed when she shook her head. "This is good work, Miss James. Truly. What we need to do now is see what else the skull can tell us. I will take this trace evidence and will you be so kind as to continue with the skull? Focus on the sections you think might coincide with the piece you brought me." She nodded and he asked, "And please have Dr. Ogden work with you on interpreting the fracture—then you will have evidence!"

Inspector Brackenreid entered one door as Miss James left the other.

"Well? You have been gone all afternoon and you brought Crabtree back looking like he just crossed the Registan Desert." The inspector noticed with some glee that his usually spotless detective was quite mussed as well, his normally crisp white shirt decidedly less so in an unusual turn of events. "What have you got? Miss James seemed quite excited."

As much as he wanted to clean up, William was excited as well by his discoveries. "Sir. It turns out that we were wrong that no one could have gotten on the roof to push the stonework onto Mr. McNaughton." William's legs and arms still burned a little from crawling up so many flights of ladder—apparently that activity used different muscles than bicycling, much to his regret. "There is another way to get there that is quite cleverly set up, from the basement under the chapel. The groundskeeper was shocked as were several board members; however Mr. Pendrick informed us that it was quite common in his day for the older students to sneak up there to smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol and do other clandestine activities. Upper classmen generally had nothing to do with younger students and there was a certain amount of hazing I am told, then you were introduced to one of the secret or out of the way places in the school. In his day it was quite exclusive, however I cannot imagine that secrecy survived the decades." He looked for a minute at his chalkboard and frowned. "Today someone was up there, nearly sent me backwards down the service stairs and ran away."

"I take it you did not catch up with him. Do you have a description?"

"No, sir. And I do not." William recalled the descent down the long ladder to the basement beneath the chapel, ninety feet below. He found his way to daylight on the north side of the building, not far from where McNaughton's body was discovered. "I can eliminate the head groundskeeper, Francis. He is too decrepit to be able to do it, and one of the trustees uses a cane, and two other men are rather portly so it is unlikely they could fit."

When Brackenreid raised an eyebrow, William only said: "Don't ask. What it means is that it is possible someone _was_ on the roof and could get on and off without anyone being the wiser. Rain has washed most of the trace evidence away by now, but George and I took fingermarks from the area and the ladder and doors, and we took fingermark cards from the trustees at the meeting and the maintenance men," he said sourly, leafing through the photographs of the crime scene which George developed.

"What's their motive? Trustees of a place like that must have money on the table, don't they?" The inspector never failed to recommend greed as a motive.

William explained. "The trustees were going to vote on needed repairs as well as expanding the school. The board appears to be equally divided on the matter. No one seems to know how Mr. McNaughton would have voted—for or against. New construction is halted until a replacement trustee is elected." He was getting distracted by one of the photographs.

"So, eliminating him might get a new man in who sympathized more with one side than the other. What other vested interests are there?" Brackenreid suddenly saw he was losing his detective's attention and coughed loudly.

William swung his eyes around and brought up one photograph for his superior to look at. "Look here, Inspector. This is the ground under the victim's head. Can you see how smooth the grass is? There are no trees anywhere around, no branches, no sticks. Miss James found an odd fracture and this sliver of wood in the victim's scalp." He brought his head up, recalling a statement George had made. "Sir. George made an observation about the chances of a piece of the building falling by chance and hitting Mr. McNaughton. What if the victim was already dead, or stunned and lying on the ground, positioned just so, and then a piece of the parapet was shoved off onto him?"

"Well, now. That would make it murder, wouldn't it?" the inspector replied with a grin.

* * *

Julia had stayed for another drink at Isaac's and as such, was later getting home than she had intended. She'd meant to return to the hotel before William, but instead, she had been greeted with her husband's concerned face as he glanced at the clock and sighed in relief, closing his newspaper as he stood up to greet her.

Though she knew he'd been worried and that she should have called, she couldn't help but giggle and outright laugh as she tripped on the Persian rug. She wasn't drunk, but she was feeling very relaxed, more so than she had in quite some time.

"Julia?" Asking where she had been or what she had been doing was on the tip of his tongue, but William stopped himself from saying any more. Miss James had indicated Julia had an appointment, but his quick survey of her date book yielded nothing scheduled today. Coming home intoxicated meant she had been socializing, although it was unusual for her to neglect her work, let alone take an afternoon off for that.

William inhaled and smelled whiskey, so that usually meant either a male companion or one of her suffragist peers. She did not look guilty or upset, so her afternoon must have been pleasant. Her outfit, one of his favourite blue suits with a form-fitting jacket, was a little too neatly tucked for this time of day and her hair appeared to have been re-wound. Another man might have leapt to jealousy, but William knew his wife, so his first guess was that she was shopping or at the dressmaker's, perhaps with a girlfriend at Mr. Oscar Ducharme's establishment. _Where he probably serves alcohol to the patrons, to loosen up the purse strings, no doubt…_ William recalled meeting the man. ' _Du-Charme.'_ He furrowed his brow slightly. _Not possibly the man's real name…and he was a little too familiar with my wife, calling by her Christian name…_ William thinned his lips. He had all the clues he thought he needed and then decided his best option was to wait for her to explain, so he only made a slight acknowledgment with his head.

"William, I promise I'm not inebriated. Some tea and dinner will return me to my full mental faculties, and we can discuss whatever it is that you like. I met with an old friend, and we enjoyed a couple of drinks while we talked and time got away from me. I do apologize for worrying you," she reassured him, stroking his brow. _William is not happy about my current state. I suppose seducing him will not work much either, as he seems as though he wants to have a serious discussion._

He closed his eyes for a moment. _She will tell me when she is ready to do so_. But he was recalculating his assessment: _She_ _ **is**_ _withholding something from me_. _But what?_

For her part, Julia wasn't keen on hiding secrets from William, as she knew he seemed concerned about who it was she may have had drinks with, but she wasn't sure how to tell him that she had gone to see Isaac, as he would immediately guess that it hadn't been just a social call, and that she'd gone to discuss a possible pregnancy. She needed to be careful in how she brought this up to William. She sent a look over to the thermometer poking out of her reticule, hoping he had not noticed it.

William opened his eyes after enjoying her touch for a moment. "Apology accepted." He decided to set the agenda. "I have had my wash up and delayed supper until you arrived home. How about you freshen up while I order dinner?" He paused and added with a mild tone, "and a large pot of coffee before we talk?"

# # #

Over supper the couple started to relax. Julia began by asking about the case. "You are quite sure it is murder?"

As much as William was curious about Julia's behaviors or their unfinished discussions about… _life_ …he was equally excited about their case, and was bursting to tell her the turn it had taken. "Inspector Brackenreid was correct," he told her. "Money flowed in and around the principles on this case, winners and losers alike. Mr. Cornelius Black, the trustee who owns a construction company, is going to be handsomely paid to begin repairs at the school and have them finished before the fall semester begins. The school is insured through a private Canadian syndicate trying to replicate Lloyd's of London, and are now about to be ruined by a second claim against it, since they were radically undercapitalized. At least one trustee, Mr. Erasmus Granger, was an investor."

Julia made a deliberate show of taking a second cup of the Windsor's delicious brew. "And the others?"

"Mrs. McNaughton may be a "winner" of sorts when and if she collects on an insurance claim or lawsuit, but at the loss of her husband to whom, by all accounts she was devoted. I will have to look more into the victim to see who else might have had a personal motive for his death, because at this point, unfortunately, McNaughton's death changed very little at the school and benefitted no one, unless obstructing the addition of females to the boarding school was the end game. Even then, the new trustee, whenever he is elected, may vote to do so regardless. That seems such an odd motive for murder."

Julia processed that observation. "Perhaps…that may be an area for us to explore. Emotions about the sexes can run very high and individuals certainly can have an irrational investment in either change or simply maintaining the status quo." She smirked to acknowledge their recent situation. "I can see how you and I may have rubbed up against that very issue ourselves just recently, no?" Julia shifted in her seat anxious to change the topic as she was not yet ready to share that bit of news. "I, however, am more interested in what you and Miss James found. Your theory is that he was hit in the head and then the stonework was pushed over to obscure the crime?" Julia was proud of her protégé and a little miffed she was not there to participate in or witness the discovery.

William agreed. "Yes. And if you had not suggested to Miss James she take on the exercise of trying to fit the skull together, evidence never would have surfaced pointing to foul play. Wait until you see her reconstruction!" William's enthusiasm with Miss James' work was tempered by not wanting to point out too obviously that Julia was absent for the discovery. He cleared his throat. "Er…of course, I will need for you to evaluate her work and provide the official interpretation. And the sliver of wood is from a species of Ash tree, and no Ashes were anywhere near the school or on the grounds. I posit a wooden handle of some kind was the weapon. He might have been killed right there, or killed elsewhere and deposited there in just the right location."

"From what else you told me, it had to have been someone familiar with the school and with the secret method for getting to that roof."

"I'd also say someone with at least rudimentary knowledge of angles—how else to pitch it directly on the man's head? Inspector Brackenreid called it a lucky shot, but I am not so sure."

"Just what was Mr. McNaughton doing on the side of that building? Has that ever been explained?" She paused. "William, the first person to find the body is usually a person of interest. James Pendrick fits the criteria does he not? You told me he will be the new board of trustees' president and he has the knowledge of building and the math, and he is capable of fitting through that small window to get on and off the roof. He had a long acquaintanceship with the victim, overlapping business interests, and he is an ardent supporter of the new dormitory scheme for girls. He's almost the perfect suspect!" This line of thinking was distressing to her, as she liked James Pendrick and felt bad that William might have to make the man he befriended and admired a suspect yet again.

William shook his head, a grin wrinkling the side of his face. "I don't believe he is guilty and he does not have a strong enough motive. For once, I have eliminated him from the suspect pool. I must say he is relieved…" He mentally reviewed his office chalkboard, outfitted with an even grid and his persons of interest, boxes for motive, means and opportunity, and the list of new lines of inquiry—such as who was up on the roof today with him…. She was not the only one holding back information. He was _not_ going to tell her he nearly fell down a treacherous flight of stairs today or shimmied on a delicate ledge several stories up. "I will have to go back again tomorrow and search for the murder weapon. So, enough about my day…how was yours?"

"Let us have our dinner removed and make ourselves comfortable on the couch, shall we?" she asked motioning towards their sitting area.

A few minutes later with the meal's remains cleared and comfortably ensconced on the couch, she took a deep breath and squeezing his hand, she decided to share her afternoon with William, reminding herself that she had to be careful with how she phrased this next part.

"You already know about my morning and how I missed Miss James' discovery. As for the rest, well," she hesitated briefly before continuing, "I visited with Isaac today, William," she softly said, snuggling into him and pulling his arm around her. In response, he kissed the top of her head, and pulled her closer.

"Given our recent experiences with the adoption boards, I wanted an honest medical opinion with someone who was familiar with my entire medical history and who wouldn't patronize me. Afterwards, we had a frank and friendly discussion about recent events. It felt good to do that, and I should have done it sooner given everything that's happened the past few months."

William blinked. For a moment his heart raced, wondering what her concern had been—perhaps that there was an underlying illness or some issue with her injury that might shorten her life and therefore be a valid reason to deny adoption? Why did she not tell him? He was starting to panic. Then he realized: while Julia seemed to be not fully at ease, neither was she ill or frightened. He took a breath, and made himself ask what exactly has been the nature of her call on Dr. Tash.

"Yes, well, I wanted to see if conceiving our own child were possible, if various risks could be mitigated," she managed to push out nervously. She could feel him stiffen and pull away from her ever so slightly as he looked at her, concern clearly writ across his face. "Just imagine William, if I were to miraculously conceive, wouldn't that be a sign that this is what God intended? How could we not explore this route?" she asked, taking his face into her hands and kissing him soundly.

 _Some detective I am…!_ William was shocked, remembering he believed she'd simply been to the dressmakers. He took her hands down and placed them on his chest over his heart. "Julia…stop. _Please stop_." He searched her face, reading anxiety and something else in her blue eyes… _excitement, or anguish?_ "This is about some sort of misplaced sense of guilt or some need to punish yourself. Just yesterday you were considering swallowing your dignity, _and mine_ , by proposing I endure relations with another so that I could sire a child for you and me to raise. Now you offer your own body as a vessel, risking the probability of death for a nearly impossible outcome. I will not countenance this!"

"But William, Isaac thinks it may very well be possible! He believes that he can remove most of the scar tissue from my cervix in a simple, relatively risk-free procedure, thus greatly improving my odds at delivering our child naturally. Even if a vaginal birth weren't possible, the methods of removing the child and both of us surviving are excellent. Isaac has made it a point to observe as many as he can, and has even performed three of these procedures himself. He feels quite confident in how they must be done, and he's well read up on all of the recent discoveries, and I…" she trailed off nervously before regaining her confidence. "William, what if we could have our own child? Then we wouldn't be beholden to how others want us to raise the child, we could choose for ourselves what values **we** want to instill, and how **we** want to educate him," she passionately explained, squeezing his arm in excitement. "Or her, William," she added, catching herself. "We could choose what we think is best for them. Just think of the possibilities," she gushed in excitement.

William did not see her excitement at all, did not understand she was actually pleased by the idea of bearing their child (because in her anxiety she did not say so.) He did not understand that it was not all about his yearning to become a father. He only heard two things that clashed in his head like thunder.

He spoke slowly, his voice shaking. "All that to avoid sending our child to a Catholic School?" William was greatly disturbed by her apparent motivation. "Julia, I can tell by your intentions that it means so very much to you that our child is not influenced by the Church. But I am Catholic and my child will be raised with those influences whether or not they are educated by a Parochial School or ever attend a Mass. We need to talk about why that is such an anathema to you that you would risk your life to prevent it—especially when it is such a deep part of whom I am."

Staring down at her rings in stunned silence, she couldn't believe that William was attempting to dictate what she did or did not do with her body. Just as he had once fantasized about her carrying his child, the chance that she might actually accomplish such a task had excited her. Exhaling in anger, she squirmed out of his embrace and jumped up, quickly finding herself across the room with arms and hands held out, silently messaging to him that she did not want him to follow.

"I had hoped that I might spend the rest of the evening working on our greatest collaboration ever, William, but instead, I don't even want to share the same bed as you. Fear not, William, it is your turn to take the bed as you endured the couch last time we argued. Just allow me to get my things and it will all be yours.

"Julia, please, we **must** talk," he began.

"No, William, you don't want to talk, you want to control the situation. I want to make my own decisions that involve me, not to have functions defined by my husband," she coldly stated. "I'm in no mood for you to tell me how our child will be raised, what religious affiliation they will have, how they will be educated, as well as how they will be procured. In fact, I'm not sure I want a child if it's going to entail you and others telling me how things are going to be."


	5. Chapter 5

"Murdoch. In my office. _Now!_ "

Every other officer in the station house reacted to the command by paying much closer attention to whatever task was in front of them, eyes deliberately focused down and away so as not to make eye contact with either their detective or their inspector. William did not have that luxury to avoid the summons, bellowed from just a few feet away. He tried to keep a light, neutral and unconcerned expression on his face, to walk confidently into Brackenreid's office; something he did not feel. A quick sideways glance on his superior's desk which was littered with newspapers and message slips did not bode well.

"Yes, sir?"

Brackenreid pointed to a headline with his reading glasses. "Front page of the _Toronto Gazette_. Honestly, Murdoch! You get more press than the bloody Mayor!"

"Sir?" William repeated, thinking the best tactic was to wait for the indictment before defending himself. He had not read this morning's paper over breakfast, since he had made it a point to rise and leave before Julia awoke. Her statement that she did not want children _at all_ if she couldn't have her way had filled him with despair; he almost preferred whatever blow was coming at him from his boss…

Brackenreid gathered more steam as he answered. "And I quote: ' _Sommerbank Suspects Several Society Scions. Detective William Murdoch, the Toronto Detective with the city's most successful clearance record…blah, blah blah… has identified the most prestigious collection of persons of interest in a murder case to date, including Mr. Samuel Gibbons, Mr. Castor Wright, Mr. Melvin Borden and Mr. James Pendrick. Mr. Holden Grandee, father of Olympic hopeful, Patrick Grandee was also interviewed in connection with the death of Mr. Josiah McNaughton as was his widow and the entire board of Trustees….'_ He rattled the paper closer to William's face. "That reporter, Miss Louise Cherry, goes on to detail the investigation, and rehash every tragedy even tangentially associated with the school for the last thirty years!" Brackenreid was used to this sort of drama, even enjoyed it an odd bit or two, but his phone hadn't stopped ringing and the urgent requests for either a quote or an explanation were piling up. He glared at his detective, who was now reading the paper with a slack-jawed expression. "Who gave them this interview? Don't tell me it was you!"

William's head was pounding. _First Julia, now this_. "No, sir. I have no idea how the press got their information. Some of this, most if this in fact, seems like it is cobbled together from previous articles and the Society pages. Perhaps one of the men, or the widow herself gave an interview?" William scanned the pages rapidly—embedded in the article was in fact a good summary of the case and an accurate list of the persons of interest (minus details of the actual crime such as the skull reconstruction and the likely murder weapon of an Ash- handled object.) The article also refreshed reader's memories about the lad whose shoulder was injured, derailing an Olympic dream, Miss Brown's death, Mr. Gillies' years as a student there, a suicide of a student several years before who apparently jumped off the roof, and a student that went missing from the school more than two decades ago. After that, the article descended into tales of ghosts in the various buildings and the notion that the whole place was cursed as it was built over Indian burial grounds or the scene of a massacre during the Battle of York. He shook his head in denial. "This is bad for the case, sir…"

"For the _case?_ Brackenreid asked sarcastically. "That better not be all you are worried about me ol' mucker. You have put a pall over the cream of Toronto Society and they are not taking too kindly to it, and neither is the mayor or, worst of all the new chief constable. Crikey! When you stir the pot you go all out." He dropped his shoulders a little, knowing it was unfair to blame Murdoch, even if it _felt_ justified. Murdoch would never have given details of a case away… he gazed out to the bullpen suspiciously, seeing if any of the constables looked particularly guilty this morning, when the detective's writing-board caught his eye. _The chalkboard!_ "Detective?" he asked with an arched tone. "Do you by any chance have your working list of persons of interest listed on a nice, legible grid on your chalk board?"

"Why yes, sir. I usually do…" William's eyes darted to his own office and his face fell. "You don't suppose…" He almost said _Bloody Hell_ himself.

Brackenreid accompanied William back over to his office. The chalk board was not facing towards the common space of the station house, but _was_ facing the window to the street. Someone could very easily have peered in and copied the names down through the opening in the blinds. "Well. One mystery solved." The inspector was actually relieved that it was not a matter of information leaking from one of the men. That was the chief constables worry, and having an explanation was going to make dealing with the whole thing a lot easier. _Everyone else can go…fish!_ "So tell me. Who are these people, Murdoch and why do they deserve to be on your short list and what can we do to get them off as soon as possible?"

William began his recitation. "Mr. Samuel Gibbons & James Pendrick are for the girls' dormitory while Headmaster Mr. Castor Wright and trustee Mr. Melvin Borden are against as are several of the faculty—the Librarian (Angus Peters) and Math/Science teacher (Henry Williams) specifically. Each of the sides thought they were going to win the argument—Mr. Gibbons says that he knew for certain Mr. McNaughton was going to vote for it and Mr. Borden says he is equally sure he was voting against."

"That's your motive? I guess the gentry really are different from you and me."

William made a face. "It is unlikely the death was related to admitting girls as boarding students, despite what Julia and Mr. Pendrick say about the gender politics of expensive private schools. Each of them benefits in some way from Mr. McNaughton's death. Headmaster Wright gets more power at the school. The widow may be in line for a financial windfall. Mr. Borden, it seems, was Mrs. McNaughton's suitor before her marriage and is already comforting the grieving widow. Mr. Cornelius Black, improves his bottom line with a no-bid contract on repairs at the school. Librarian Mr. Angus Peters and teacher Mr. Henry Williams are among the married teachers who live at the school year-round. They had disagreements with Mr. McNaughton and no complete alibis for the time of death. Mr. Holden Grandee was angry about the injury to his son and loss of a chance to join the Canadian Olympic team, something no amount of money satisfied, and he blamed Mr. McNaughton for neglecting repairs. I have eliminated the rest of the list as having not enough knowledge about or ability to get on the roof, or a tight alibi.

Brackenreid looked thoughtfully at the chalkboard grid. "So…money, power, love or jealousy and revenge. Now those are motives indeed." He narrowed his gaze. "What's that?" He pointed to the now dry sheet of notepaper that was found in the victim's pocket and read off the numbers:

 **"** **00-10-04-00-02-00-50-00-20-80-40-09-00-04"**

"I do not know." William had been working the puzzle in the back of his mind from the moment he smoothed out the sheet to dry. So far he had not focused on it exclusively as it was a curiosity but not directly tied to the case. "It is a notation of some sort, found with Mr. McNaughton. It is too long to be a combination to a safe, the wrong sort for a bank account, or for a shipping manifest. He is in the import-export business and it may be related to his trade, or even a message in private code, which are sometimes used when telegraphing information so that the trade secrets, shipping data etcetera, remain secret. I am having George check that out today and look into more background on Mr. McNaughton and the school."

The inspector nodded. "What did you think about that newspaper article?"

"It has some interesting leads in it sir. Something else for George to investigate. It's a rather elaborate way to kill someone, but perhaps someone else had motive and can be sussed out from what the reporter gathered."

Brackenreid smiled. "Crabtree will love the haunted house angle, won't he? And while he is at it, find out where that money is coming from for the school expansion and if there are any strings attached that point to motive." He pointed back to the grid. "You have a line through Mr. Pendrick's name?"

"James Pendrick becomes president of the trustees, but I eliminated him as a suspect. His motive is weak and he's really not the type…" William shifted uncomfortably under his superior's blue-eyed surprise.

"If you say so, detective." Brackenreid grunted. "And Mr. Gibbons? What is his motive?"

"He is the one person who seemed most invested in the school project going forward and most vocal. He was passionate about the school building project, obsessed with it even, according to Mr. Pendrick and Mr. Borden, and thought that the vote would be _for_ the project. However, I have information that Mr. McNaughton was in fact going to vote against. Mr. Gibbons also has an insufficient alibi for the time of death."

"How many of these gentlemen could have also pushed you on the stairs? Do we think it was the same person? It could not have been Mrs. McNaughton, certainly."

William had a momentary vision of the ungainly widow trying to stuff herself through a clerestory window or traverse the ledge beneath it like a fat, black cat. He tried not to laugh. "No, but a conspiracy with Mr. Borden is possible." He sighed. "But not likely. There is no evidence of a liaison between the two. The trustee meeting had broken up by the time someone joined me on the roof. It is theoretically possible for one of the board members to have adjourned from the meeting and gone up the stairs, or Mr. Grandee, Mr. Peters or Mr. Williams for that matter—the problem is that I can find no reason for them to have done so."

"Then go with what you do know. Figure out what the murder weapon was and find it. Look more closely into the victim's background—that's what you and Dr. Ogden say is so helpful. And cross more names off that list—better yet cover it up or erase it. Now that some enterprising reporter knows about it, your method is vulnerable to being coopted."

William was singularly attached to his chalkboard and was trying to come up with an objection when the inspector called out _"Higgins!"_ sharply. The young constable jumped.

"Yes, sir?" Henry presented himself at the office door, clearly not wishing to enter in case something dire might befall him.

"Higgins. You are going to accompany the detective back to that bleeding school. Find a carriage and load up!" Brackenreid was pleased to see how fast the young man skedaddled off. He'd been lazier than usual of late, his promotion having gone to his head,

"Sir. Before we go I have a couple more tests to run and I want to check in with Julia about the skull reconstruction. I also need to look for more finger marks. There were none but Mr. McNaughton's on that note, but I have one more place to check." William had another vision, this time of how the victim might have been maneuvered in place to be bashed by the stonework.

"Oh? Where is that?"

"His shoes."

* * *

Despite being smaller than William and therefore better able to fit on their couch, Julia was still too long, and had not slept well as a result. After having calmed down, she supposed that perhaps she had jumped to conclusions and at the least owed William an apology for having been so angry with him, as well as have a talk with him, something he clearly wanted to do.

But she had somehow managed to sleep through his morning ablutions and departure this morning, and her hurt at his quietly sneaking out of their suite so as to avoid her had only renewed her anger towards him.

Knowing that he would soon be here to check the progress of the skull reconstruction, Julia decided that she would be in her office, reviewing her monthly budget and requisitions for new supplies when he arrived.

"Miss James, when Detective Murdoch arrives, you may apprise him of your most recent findings and inform him that I have indeed verified your work, which is sound and well done. I shall be in my office, should you have need for me," she replied as she walked up the steps and turning on her phonograph before sitting at her desk.

 _That's an excellent job of being a mentor, Julia._ She complained to herself. _Have your assistant become an intermediary so that you may avoid any unpleasantness with your husband._

Rebecca James had not gotten as far in life as she had by shying away from awkward and difficult situations, and merely replied her assent. "Yes, Doctor," she nodded. Besides, seeing as she had done most of the work on the skull anyway, who better to brief the detective on the method and tools utilized?

A few moments later, the man himself appeared, hat in hand and looking nervous.

 _Yes, definitely an argument between the two of them._

"Good morning, Miss James. Do you and Dr. Ogden have an update for me on your findings?" He looked expectantly towards Julia's office area, where she sat, apparently absorbed by her pen and the pages she was scribbling on. Miss James put herself in his field of view to interrupt his gaze.

"Detective, Dr. Ogden has asked me to give you the report that she has verified, since I have done the work." She waited for him to reorient to her, which he did politely and apparently sincerely. "I sorted the skull fragments according to curvature and concentrated on the area directly underneath where the sliver of wood was discovered. Then using a clay form, I assembled the pieces, fixing the completed area together. I looked for evidence of peri-morbid blood staining on the interior and then overstained the outside with walnut, per protocol. I then looked at the fracture pattern to determine the direction of force. I found this area," she pointed, "to be consistent with a cylindrical object of approximately one and one half inches in diameter. The victim was struck from behind with a sideways arc at the level of his right ear. That indicates the assailant was right handed, but we cannot determine height."

"Is there any indication the body may have been dragged or rearranged at the site? I have found smudged hand prints on his shoes which are inconsistent with a man putting his own shoes on, a valet's service or even a shoe shine."

"No, not really. If he was repositioned in that way the evidence is obscured by the soil upon which he fell."

William asked a few questions and was satisfied. He still thought the smudge marks on the victim's shoes might come in handy. After Miss James had finished explaining her findings, he glanced up to see Julia immediately look back down at her desk. _She had been watching us through the window,_ he noted with some satisfaction before he chided himself: _She is hurting right now and so are you!_

Deciding to take the first step, he walked towards her office, intent on coming to an interim understanding until they both had a chance to truly speak their minds.

Knowing that something of a personal nature was about to occur, Rebecca quickly excused herself to the storage room, where she could take the inventory to give to Dr. Ogden for restocking purposes.

Standing up to greet and acknowledge him, Julia looked at him silently as he did to her.

Surprising herself, she spoke first: "I don't want to fight anymore, William."

"Nor do I," he murmured, stepping closer to her.

Without word, they both reached for one another and embraced. For her part, Julia surprised herself by tearing up and clutching at him tighter and he responded in kind.

"We need to talk, Julia. Properly. I have no interest in trying to control you, but I cannot willingly take part in something that could kill you because you keep insisting on punishing yourself. I want a family with you, milady. Not **_from_** you, and certainly not without you," he whispered, moving his hands to her waist possessively.

"Yes, we do need to talk and come to an understanding. But I want you to think about the fact that I seek a pregnancy because I genuinely want your child. Much the same way you once stood in this very spot and more or less admitted to me that you had fantasized about me carrying your child, I am just as excited about the possibility of doing that same thing!"

"Julia, as lovely and as arousing as that thought may be, I cannot tolerate the risk…"

"William, please just promise that you'll hear me out and keep an open mind before you make your final decision, won't you?" she pleaded, stroking his tie and fingering his collar.

"All right, I will," he promised. "But you must agree that you will keep an open mind as well, Julia. My faith is important to me, and I want…"

Laying a finger on his lip, she shushed him. "I know your faith is a key piece of who you are," she whispered. "I would never dream of not allowing you to share that with your child," she reassured him.

William's heart lightened. _She is discussing our child again! There is hope yet!_

* * *

This time when William went back to the Academy it was with reinforcements. George was pulled off background investigation, with the inspector volunteering to handle that in Town himself while the rest of the men were at the school. Headmaster Castor Wright's objections notwithstanding, constables were deployed with a supply of chemicals for the detection of blood residue to every corner of the campus and every broom closet and garden shed. All hearths were searched for evidence of a recent fire. William knew all too well that was an excellent way to dispose of a weapon, and that a fire would be suspicious considering how hot the weather had been. He dispatched Henry and George to work together since he was aware there was mounting friction between them lately that needed to be worked out for what William thought of as the efficiency of the station house's activities in general and his investigation in particular. The irony was not lost on him as he sent the bickering pair off with a set of glassware containing hydrogen peroxide and another containing a powder, plus an atomizer, and one of his new, compact ultraviolet wands for good measure.

Higgins handed the whole box to his companion as soon as he was out of the detective's line of sight. For a long while they strode to their destination in tense silence, Higgins stalking stiffly and slightly out front of George. He was unhappy about their recent conversation about work and it had gotten the better of him. Things _were_ awkward between them and he was used to George smoothing things out. That was not happening fast enough for his liking and he wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.

Higgins slowed down fractionally. "Look George, _you_ are complaining too much. _You_ are the one late to work. _You_ are the one who is spending all his money on his new sweetheart. _You_ are the one who…."

George heaved the box on one hip and made a cutting gesture towards Henry in anger. "All right! All right! Yes, Henry, you are the new constable first class and as such have new authority. But, 'First Class Constable Henry Higgins' also has new responsibilities as well, including leadership of the men. Authority is not all about making people do things and leadership is not just pointing out what has to be done. Look at Detective Murdoch. He does not ask us to do anything he has not done himself, and I suppose except for digging holes, he still does all the mundane tasks of any police officer—more in fact. _He_ is not always the first to leave at the end of the day…" George mentioned as a pointed dig at Henry. "We do his bidding not just because he is our boss, but also because of how he treats us, with respect." He reached the door of the athletic building and fumbled with the lock with one hand.

Henry reached over to help, took the key and undid the hasp. He swung the door open to allow George to enter first, and resumed his self-defense. "Inspector Brackenreid has made it clear to everyone that they are supposed to respect _me_ …" Henry stopped, his argument evaporating at what he beheld.

The barn-like structure was chock full, floor to ceiling, of athletic gear. Even in the dim light it was impressive: row upon row, rack upon rack bristling with paddles, oars, tennis rackets, hockey sticks, baseball bats, lacrosse sticks, curling brooms, bows and arrows, javelins, pole vault poles, quarter-staffs and what looked for all the world like jousting lances. Enough for every student to have their own equipment in two or three sports, perhaps more. He glanced at the contents George's box. _We are going to need a lot more of that stuff._

"Holy mother of God!" George exclaimed. He'd never seen so many potential weapons all in one place. With Henry unmoving next to him, he put the box down and took out the chemicals, mixed them and did an experimental spraying over the first rack, then the second one. An eerie blue glow bloomed all over the items—spots, drips and splashes of it.

George was open mouthed and stuttering: "Who _are_ these people?"

George went to fetch William, who in turn called back the rest of the constables to systematically search the athletic barn. To winnow down the work, anything not made of Ash and which appeared undamaged was ignored, and using Miss James' calculations, anything with the wrong dimensions was cast aside as well. That still left thirty-odd items. William did a visual examination of each piece, finally deciding three might fit the bill—all had blood on the business end, all had similar divots in the Ash wood and none were dust covered. "We will take these back to the station house for further analysis." He handed the instruments over. "Constable Higgins, will you do the honours?"

Henry, who had been watching this unfold, had an idea as well, trying to redeem himself a bit. "Sir. This building was locked up tight. Why not have Constable Crabtree take these back with the rest of the men? I will take Jackson and we will see if there is another way into the building and look for trace evidence or fingermarks." He glanced quickly at George. "We will stay until we have done a thorough job, I promise."

William did a short double take, then shrugged. "Good thinking Henry. We will see you back at my office."

# # #

In a nearly empty station house, William, his inspector and his wife huddled around what was known about the death of Mr. McNaughton. Inspector Brackenreid just finished recounting the information on all the pertinent individuals he gleaned from his digging around in Toronto whilst most of his station house crew was at Sommerbank doing another kind of digging.

It was late in the day past quitting time. Everyone was hungry but no one wanted to leave until some forward progress was made on the case. William had a theory, while unproven, that the best window of opportunity to solve a crime was within the first two days after it occurred, which is why he delved so intensely into a case once it crossed his path and drove the men to hunt down so many leads and so much information.

"The source of the money for repairs comes from the estate of Mr. Elias Broche, administered by his sixty-five year old widow. Their son, Xavier, was that student mentioned in the paper who went missing twenty-five years ago, which coincidentally was the last time any work has been done to the property when the Library wing was added. Later the library was dedicated to a Mr. Cecil Rowland, a long time Headmaster, whom I am told was more conservative than the Roman Pope and Archbishop of Canterbury rolled into one, and a right pri…er… _prig_ as well." Brackenreid said this unselfconsciously, before remembering there was a lady present. "The story goes the lad ran away to make his fortune, or that is at least the family's public version. The school says he was about to be expelled. Mr. Broche's other son also left about that time never to be heard from since, leaving the family devastated. I guess the students at Sommerbank were a substitute for actual children or grandchildren. Can't imagine that myself…"

"All right," William began, veering away from a two touchy subjects and ticking items off on his fingers. "First: We now have a weapon. Two: A time of death. Three: If we assume the person on the roof with me was also involved in Mr. McNaughton's death we have a diagram of logically who was, or could have been in both places and who to eliminate." William gestured to the interlocking circles on his chalkboard, "Miss James cannot determine the exact height of the assailant because of the condition of the skull and the sideway angle of the blow, which we have determined was from behind and delivered right handedly. We have hundreds of smudged finger marks with nothing usable." He stopped before he began to sound like he was complaining.

Inspector Brackenreid and Julia occupied chairs across from his desk, considering the evidence with him, both making small sounds of derision at about the same time. Inspector Brackenreid spoke first. "Once again, I'd say that was your own fault. The methods of the great detective Murdoch are getting to be well known. People are starting to clean up after themselves, not for the first time."

William coloured. His wife could not tell if in embarrassment or annoyance; in either event, she tried not to smirk. The temporary détente between them was not something she chose to risk in this venue at the moment. "William, Inspector Brackenreid has given me enough information on the victim to form a psychological profile and information on possible motives for his demise. I tend to agree that we can eliminate his widow. While there may be stronger motives in his business life, no one in that arena seems to have the wherewithal to have pushed the masonry on him, even if they had ambushed him and killed him on the school grounds. I hardly think a second person just happened along at just the right time to spontaneously obfuscate the crime."

"Agreed. Mr. Pendrick and Mr. Gibbons say that when they arrived there were no other vehicles besides their own and Mr. McNaughton's," William commented, "lending credence it was someone already at the school—someone who lives there that did the deed, especially to steal the weapon and then put it back. We have means and opportunity. Unfortunately the motives are very weak."

"The _known_ motives, that is…" Julia though out loud. "It seems that the death must be connected to the school."

Brackenreid also speculated. "Mr. Gibbons' alibi is weak—he says he was driving his own carriage at a leisurely pace—the other men except Mr. Borden have drivers who will vouch for their employers. I suppose the killer could have merely got there early, hid his carriage, did his dirty work and then went back, retrieved the carriage and then arrived after everyone already was in an uproar. Or another outsider did the same, and slipped away in the same uproar." The inspector frowned, thinking they were still going in circles and said so. He did not necessarily believe in Murdoch's so-called 'Two Day Ideal' but agreed that the sooner this was sorted, the better. He sent a look through Murdoch's doorway through to his own where his decanter waiting. He'd been out most of the afternoon checking records and pulling strings for information and as a consequence was one or two scotches lighter than usual.

"You have forgotten Mr. McNaughton's son, Connor, whom you do not have listed as a suspect. He is a student at the school and according to you, Inspector, has had terrible rows with his father and nearly got himself expelled last year. He could easily lure his father into meeting him. His only alibi is his mother who claims the young man was in his room, safely at home," Julia offered.

Brackenreid snorted, remembering Station House No. 4's the encounter with the lady and the lad. "Yes. We've had the pleasure. All mothers think their sons are blissfully innocent in their rooms. All sons know how to sneak out. The students at Sommerbank kept their little roof-top haven a secret from the faculty for what? Twenty-five, thirty years, or more?"

William tented his eyebrows. "Point taken, sir." His own experience of escaping the notice of the resident chaperones at St. Ignatius informed his opinion of the matter. "I will add him to the list, however that goes against your desire to pare it down." William rose to make the new notation.

Julia followed her husband's movements. "We still don't really know which suspect to target next. How did the killer meet Mr. McNaughton? He would not have gone willingly to meet someone, alone on the side of the building without some prompting." She spied the string of numbers which were hanging to the side. "William…what is that? Geographic or nautical notations? Swiss bank account perhaps?"

 **"** **00-10-04-00-02-00-50-00-20-80-40-09-00-04"**

Brackenreid answered for her. "Your husband doesn't know. Imagine that? Something about numbers or math he is unfamiliar with. I also found threatening letters at home directed at the man from many corners of the world. Mr. McNaughton was a pretty sharp businessman, and several people felt nicked when he cut a deal so close to the bone. But his office manager says he has no idea of the connection to his work from these numbers. I wondered if it is about some secret and probably illegal dealings…but I found no evidence even pointing to that."

"It seems to me that if you found the threatening letters at home that points to his personal life. What if you are overthinking this? What about a communication method from his student days?" Julia asked.

Both men stared in bewilderment. "Well, gentlemen, are you going to tell me you never passed a note at school you did not want the teacher to read? Surely there was information you wanted share without others knowing?" Julia waved a hand at the board. "Look at what you have. Several of these men went to school at Sommerbank at the same time, or in overlapping years. What if that was the note that lured Mr. McNaughton to his death?"

William answered. "Why would you need a code if you already know the man—why not just pick up the telephone? And if he was a stranger to Mr. McNaughton, then how would he know the code would work and furthermore that Mr. McNaughton would do something as incautious as show up…?"

"When I was a schoolgirl at Bishop Strachan, my friends and I would use a cipher such as this to convey our thoughts and ideas to one another. Of course we gossiped about our classmates, but if we went to the trouble of encoding a note, it was a bit more of a scandalous nature, such as sneaking off to various locales to meet boys from Sommerbank itself, or whether or not one of us had purloined a bottle of spirits from our parent's provisions and where we could meet to share it. Of course I was a day student, but many of my friends boarded and I knew they would often encode a note if they wanted to arrange sneaking out of the dormitories, a few times, I even managed to join them without making my father aware, but I digress, gentlemen. If this is a cipher they created for meeting in secret places as schoolboys, this must also hide something of an illicit nature or secret. My suggestion would be to look at which of your suspects were in Mr. McNaughton's year, and then perhaps those immediately after it," she offered, gesturing at the numbers. "In fact, I might enjoy the challenge of discovering the cipher they used. I'd like to compare theirs to the one we created," Julia offered.

She was about to add more when an out of breath Constable Henry Higgins knocked on the doorframe and then entered excitedly. "Sirs! Uh, Dr. Ogden. We found it!"

"What have you, Henry?" William perked up.

"A way in and out of that sport storage place. And we have fingermarks. Jackson is comparing them now." Henry grinned ear to ear.

Indeed, Jackson was rifling through the sets of identification cards, first through one pile of primary suspects, and then down to the individuals who has been taken off the list. "Got it!" he yelled, and pulled the card and the fingermark evidence together and brought it into the detective.

"Well, who is it?" Brackenreid asked.

William looked up from his magnifier. "Angus Peters."

Inspector Brackenreid was gratified for a break in the case. "Well done Higgins! Looks like you are catching on. Go fetch him to our interview room first thing in the morning. In the meanwhile, detective, you need to pin down the motive and how you think Mr. Peters did it, without spooking him off. Then let's have a chat with our Sommerbank Librarian and see what he has to say."


	6. Chapter 6

Offering to stay and assist William with the investigation, Julia sat at his worktable staring at the strange note that had been sent to Mr. McNaughton, attempting to decipher the code in the hopes that a valuable clue to the killer's identity could be ascertained.

Taking a break from the numbers that she felt had to mean something of a scurrilous nature (else why would one bother to encode the message especially when the principals were no longer school children), Julia observed her husband working at the chalkboard.

He really was a handsome man, she thought to herself not for the first time, as she studied him appreciatively. _He's a perfectly inverted triangle_ , she mused to herself as she admired how his broad shoulders gradually narrowed downward to his trim waist and well-muscled backside. _I have always admired his ass, and now not only do I have firsthand knowledge of how firm it is when I grasp it in my hand, I know how powerful his thrusts are when I experience the full torrent of his passion._ Stifling a giggle, she averted her eyes to his robust biceps, and how they tapered down to his hands, which were not only beautiful, they were the hands of a master creator, well callused yet skillful in creating any tool or instrument he needed as well as capable of touching her in such a way that almost always brought her pleasure.

 _The Sommerbank boys we were sweet on as schoolgirls didn't have a damn thing on my man_ , she thought with a proud grin. _Oh, how I would delight in knowing what my William was like as a schoolboy… Surely he wasn't always so serious even then, was he? Surely even he had snuck out on occasion, hadn't he? What had he done on such occasions?_

Focusing her attention back on him, it wasn't a surprise when she felt her body respond to the memories of their most recent encounter from a couple of nights previous, and she closed her eyes as she recalled how they'd settled their disagreement over her offer of finding a surrogate.

 _She'd lain there pleasuring herself as she'd waited for his return, asking him to lie with and beget a child with her when he had finally come back. Predictably, he'd stood transfixed until his desire to control and partake had overcome the delight at watching, joining her and immediately making it known that he would be in charge of the evening's meeting._

 _'Will you desist in your sinful actions, Mrs. Murdoch, or will I have to restrain you?' he'd asked, pinning her hands to either side of her head._

 _'Thoughts of my husband compel me to seek relief,' she'd replied. 'I'm afraid that I simply cannot control myself, and I don't know that I am capable of ceasing my actions voluntarily.' In response, he'd said nothing, but grabbed the silk scarves kept in the bedside drawer and tied her hands to the headboard, knowing that to be teased into a frenzy of want was exactly what she sought, needed even to help her relax._

She'd apparently made a noise of some sort as she reminisced about the evening they'd spent two nights ago because Inspector Brackenreid and William had immediately rushed to her and asked her if she was all right.

"I'm fine, gentlemen. I just need some air, I do believe," she'd mumbled as she excused herself in embarrassment.

 _Had they known what I was thinking?_ She chose not to think about it, as she stepped outside, delighting in the breeze that offered some respite from the otherwise stifling evening. Feeling the warmth of the day still emanating from the stone of the building against her back, she breathed deeply.

Before they had married, she'd once told William that she often pleasured herself while thinking about him, and rather than shock or appall him, he confessed that the news delighted him. As they'd come to know one another's appetites, they'd each made it a point to self-stimulate in view of the other when they desired for the other party to assume control of that particular rendezvous, playing at enjoying something that belonged to the other though they'd never voiced as such.

Furrowing her brow, she tried to concentrate as to why this particular detail would be significant right now as her subconscious insisted. _What are you getting at?_

A few moments later, William's appearance stirred her from her thoughts. "Julia, is everything all right?" he asked with concern.

Looking up at him, she nodded and suddenly, the answers couldn't pour forth from her mouth fast enough. "William, do you remember a couple of nights ago when I asked you to take charge?"

He confusedly looked at her before nodding, his face a composition of confusion and bemusement as his mind struggled to connect what had happened between them to the case.

Putting her hand on his arm, she elaborated. "William, I asked you to assume control the other night in our usual fashion. When one of us wishes to be…" she fumbled for just the right word, "dominated by the other," she explained. "We both do this when we need to be free from making decisions, when we need to find relief from our responsibilities. We do this with one another because we trust the other not to harm the other nor make us do anything neither one of us wouldn't want us to do. I gladly cede control to you because I know you will respect me and it's the same for you as well. We also both know that it is not permanent, that just because one of us has assumed temporary control during an intimate moment, we know that we do not, nor will we ever force our will upon the other at other times," she explained.

Still puzzled, he nodded to show he was listening, but rubbed his face in distress. "Julia, I know what we do, and I am fully cognizant that we need to discuss matters, but how is this germane to the case, which must be my focus at the moment."

"Yes, William. This is relevant to the case, as well as to us, I promise. I don't want to make oaths or sign pledges that cede control as to how our family will be conducted unless it is to one another. I solemnly swear to you that you shall raise your child in your faith, William. I pledge this to you and only you. I do not owe that fealty to any other person or institution, and I will not do as such. I believe in you, William, and I will cede this matter to you because I know you will do no harm. In doing so, I trust and know that you will never do anything in this matter that I wouldn't agree to. That is my objection William, that strangers who don't know us want to dictate how we will raise our child."

He nodded in understanding, having a much better take on why she had been unable to agree to the Diocesan Board's request, and feeling closer to coming to an agreement. "Julia, I appreciate your reassurance; in fact I feel quite relieved by your trust in me. I promise it is not misplaced." 

She saw the distress on his face melt away. "As for the case, William, the coded letters… once they are deciphered, they will not plainly state their intent as neither of us do so in matters of a more scandalous nature. The true meaning will be obfuscated, and it is entirely possible that one or both parties may have been or were being forced into an arrangement that both did not agree to, unlike us," she finished, hoping he understood what she was trying to say.

"All right Julia, I will look for evidence that supports that theory, I certainly have none better at present," he agreed, before pulling her towards him and kissing her. "You weren't perchance reminiscing about the other night, were you, Julia?" he asked with an upturned corner of his mouth.

"Whatever makes you think that, William," she breathlessly asked, traces of a smile gracing her own face.

"The look on your face back in my office, Mrs. Murdoch. I recognize it well from our intimate encounters, particularly when, shall I say, you are enjoying yourself…" he teased.

Hitting his chest in mock anger, they laughed as he kissed her again, his hand quickly finding a breast to give it gentle squeeze.

"Thank you, Julia. For enjoying yourself and fantasizing about our encounters at work, for desiring me as much as I long for you, for being honest with me, and for allowing me to raise our child with my religious values. The other matters we will discuss as soon as this case is over, correct?" he wondered.

"Yes, William. I believe that you have yet to accompany me to Montreal and explore some of the more scandalous locales of the city. I can take you to some of the places I enjoyed as a medical student, and perhaps you can further fill me in on some of your exploits as well. I also long to hear you parle français, mon amour. It may very be our last opportunity to take a trip together with just the two of us."

"Then I must get back to work and solve this case quickly, mustn't I? You however, have no such duty, and may go home to pleasure yourself even, if you so wish," he cheekily offered. "As soon as I close this matter, I propose that we leave town for a few days and discuss matters fully," he began with a quiet laugh, "at some anonymous _Maison_ where we cannot be interrupted, and come to a consensus with one another…"

"You forget that there will be no pleasuring myself without you, William. Besides, if I am there to help, you will sooner be free to ravish me in a strange city, _Monsieur_ Murdoch," she boldly offered herself.

"In that case…" he gestured with one arm while offering her his other, "Let us complete the matter at hand."

* * *

Working until the wee hours, the constables discovered several connections between Josiah McNaughton and Angus Peters, while Julia stayed with them working on deciphering the note. She forced herself to listen to William's lecture on codes and ciphers placed in their historical context, then went through all of his iterations he attempted to use on the number pairs. She enjoyed a mental challenge as much as the next person but wondered if this cipher followed any sort of real format or plan the way William assumed it would. She knew he was overthinking this, so instead she focused on simple substitution ciphers until fatigue overtook her, leaving her final guess for William to try on his own, before signaling she was going home. He joined her later that night, but both were far too exhausted to take anything further than a few sweet kisses with one another, hands roaming one another's bodies in comfort as opposed to passion.

Despite his late night, William was up again at dawn, eager to start his interview. As he bustled about the suite preparing for the day, he looked at her strangely as she took and recorded her temperature.

"Julia, if you're not feeling well this morning…" he'd begun when she interrupted him.

"I assure you William, I am quite well, if but a bit tired. Nothing that a quick trip to Montreal won't cure, I assure you," she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and rubbing herself up against him.

"Julia…what are you trying to accomplish?" he groaned. _Being late this morning will not do, will not do at all!_ He reminded himself sternly.

Looking at him quite saucily, Julia smiled slyly. "If you have to ask, dear William, then perhaps I am not doing it correctly," she replied. "As for the thermometer, I assure you, you have nothing to fear, and I will explain it later," she answered his unspoken question in an attempt to allay his fears.

###

By a little before eight am, Inspector Brackenreid and Detective Murdoch were setting up the interview room very carefully, anticipating Angus Peters' arrival by nine am. Constables Higgins and Jackson were already dispatched with a carriage to surprise Mr. Peters and bring him directly back to the station house. On the room's rectangular wooden table was the weapon, a lacrosse stick, lying under a large cloth so that only its sinister shape appeared. A small glass vial captured the sliver from the victim's head, which fit perfectly in the defect in the stick's handle. The fingermark cards were prominently displayed, next to the transferred print of the librarian's hand and taken from the hatch underneath the sports storage barn, from where it was presumed Mr. Peters took, then returned the stick after using it to bash Mr. McNaughton over the head.

Photographs of Mr. McNaughton's body and head (William chose the most grotesque ones with the express intent to rattle the suspect) were sheathed in a manila folder, along with photographs of Miss James' reconstruction and her interpretive report, countersigned by Julia. The large piece of masonry that had crushed the victim's skull was resting on one end of the table. Finally, William had the sheet of paper with numbers on it. He ran the last solution Julia suggested, but the result was gibberish:

- **JMTNTHDRV—**

But his plan was to bluff with that if necessary. William brought his chalk board in as well, with columns set up for "Motive," "Means" and "Opportunity." Neither William nor the inspector thought those props would be needed however—they calculated the photographs would do the trick and both men planned to be in the interview room to make sure there were no slip ups. They were hoping for a confession so were putting on all the pressure it was possible to bring one about.

"This better work, Murdoch," Brackenreid muttered. "If we get a confession then all the other men whose names were bandied about in the paper will be officially and finally cleared. In fact, a confession is being rather insisted upon by the new Chief Constable to undo the supposed damage to reputations by being investigated by the constabulary!" That there were no solid grounds for this was immaterial, he thought. _The levers of power just work that way…_

William made some final touches at arranging the table just so. "Yes sir. But we have the means, the weapon, with his handprint on the hatch underneath the building, and opportunity since he has no corroborating witness for the entire timeframe of Mr. McNaughton's death or my encounter with someone on the roof. He says he was doing work in the Library with no one else around. He is fit enough to have done it. He has been at the school twenty-six years, making him one of the longest-standing faculty members and likely to know about the passages to the roof despite his denial to the contrary. He was not favored by Mr. McNaughton, who in fact wanted the position of Librarian eliminated as an expense the school could do without. Mr. Pendrick confirms that Mr. McNaughton kept a tight hold on the Academy's purse-strings and discussed eliminating some faculty in favour of others. Losing his position at Sommerbank would have left Mr. Peters and his wife with no income _and_ no place to live, all at once. He only completed a Normal School certificate and as such it would be very unlikely he could obtain another position as prestigious or as well paid. He was facing penury—your money motive, sir. His replacement trustee might have been more amenable."

The inspector stood back and surveyed the table as if it was set for a macabre dinner party, clapping his hands once in satisfaction. "We are ready." He saw Constable Fields nervously motion to them from outside the mesh-covered observation window, and checked his watch. If Higgins and Jackson were back already with the librarian they must have left much earlier than expected and still killed the horses to make such good time. He opened the door and asked good-naturedly, "I won't bite, son! If they are here, send Mr. Peters in straight away."

William saw that the young constable was blanching. "What is it, constable?"

"I..I..I can't sir. Constables Higgins and Jackson are still enroute. The school just called and I came to tell you, Mr. Peters is deceased!"

* * *

William was annoyed and disappointed that his suspect was dead, but he guiltily admitted to enjoying some bonus time alone with his wife, having arranged for them to ride together back out to Sommerbank to attend to Mr. Peters' corpse. He commandeered a horse trap so he could hold the reins, disposing of the need for a driver and allowing for privacy. Their conversations about values, child-rearing, religion and children had run in circles, always coming back to the same place. _Just like I keep having to come back to this school!_ He wondered if this was an example of the 'unconscious' such as Julia describes, where one sees or makes use of parallels as a means of insight.

"Julia," he began, picking up her hand with one of his, and allowing the horse to move along with the reins in his other hand. He liked that she was not wearing any of those crocheted gloves she often sported, because he wanted to feel her skin against his at the moment. "I was hoping we could take a minute to talk? I find some of the friction between us to be…wearing."

She smiled and looked again at her rings, then remembered the last time they made love. Pitching her voice suggestively she murmured, "Friction also polishes a diamond William and, if you recall, can bring exquisite pleasure…." She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

William's skin sang where her lips touched him. She'd caught him off guard again, and he was thankful they were alone. He smiled at the small thrill she evoked and squeezed her hand. "Umm-yes. I will admit to enjoying it much better when we are working in harmony, such as when we are trying to come to the same, er… _conclusion,"_ he smiled, _"_ or solving a case together, and not working at cross purposes. I hope you understand I have no need for you and me to have the exact same perspective or agree on everything. In fact, I believe it is our greatest strength as partners that we each bring a slightly different outlook to matters. But I do believe that when it comes to children, the child benefits from having parents who agree on the fundamentals and who do not engage in, shall we say, _unproductive_ power struggles."

She motioned for him to go on. It was unlike him to take the lead in a talk like this and she did not want to deter him.

"This adoption process, this case, Sommerbank Academy…all of it has brought to mind parts of my childhood." He smiled when she looked over at him sharply. "Some good…some… _uncomfortable_ …" He paused. "Before, when you said you heard my conclusions and appreciated my logic about my desire for a Catholic school education for our son, you indicated you were not convinced, did not 'whole-heartedly agree,' I believe were your words." He heard her 'hmm-hmm' to encourage him to go on. "I think you wished to know what my experiences taught me and how they informed the views I have."

"Indeed I do," she answered.

He swallowed. "You have formed your own strong opinions, which I assume, or at least I hope, are based on something more than mere prejudice."

Julia gave him a sidelong glance. She understood that their children would be raised Roman Catholic, and she had accepted that. What she didn't care for was the assumption that she would be fine with the idea the children would be raised free from any influence that _she_ might provide or her own worldviews or traditions. "That is how this works, after all, William. We are the sum of our experiences, from which we choose the lessons to take. You could have turned out like your own father, but you made different choices. I too made choices that lead me to who and how I am today. "

"Quite. I believe that is why we are so far apart on this is it not?" He felt her rustle next to him, which usually indicated she was suppressing a reaction. "Your views were formed early on as were mine. Maturity and life experiences have 'polished' them of course, but we come at this from fundamentally different points of view, based on our experiences. I always believed the past is in the past; yet you have taught me, and life has brought me, the lesson that the past sometimes needs to be addressed."

Julia was nervous and excited to delve into and share some of the history before they ever met, so said, "Yes!" perhaps too impulsively. Her curiosity had been whetted by Father Keegan's tales of William as a little boy. William, of course, had never been given to talk much about his past, so unless she directly questioned him about something, he was not wont to disclose, despising idle chit chat and irrelevant conversations. 

William swallowed again, and began: "What is it you want to know?"

"What was your education truly like, William? I hear you speak warmly of Father Keegan; but your time in New Brunswick was quite a different experience. I know that much, because by that time your mother had passed away and your father had disappeared. But what I don't know is _how_ different it was. I have many fond memories of being a girl at Bishop Strachan. What was your school experience as a young man like for you?" Except for the offhand comment here or there, her husband was nearly silent about his life from ages twelve to seventeen, even more silent than he was about his father. The fact that he was rather reluctant to discuss significant portions of his childhood was a considerable source of her reservations about sending any son of hers to a Catholic boarding school.

He hardly knew where to begin. How to tell her about the insidious ways his father went about trying to sabotage his son's desire for education? Harry Murdoch expected his son to go to work and earn his keep just as he himself had done, starting off as an eight-year-old working for pennies on a Halifax dory. Portuguese Cove, just south of Halifax where the Murdoch's had a small cottage, was a proud, busy fishing village with generations of sailors who went down to the sea. Boys started early, right beside their fathers and brothers. When William preferred land to sea and book learning to fishing, the thin skinned and insecure Harry had not taken it well, interpreting it as his son being ashamed of how his father made his living. It mattered not that it wasn't true; especially since Harry was already failing at keeping a steady job, having lost his position on the _Bluebelle_. What William had been ashamed of was his father's drinking and violence, and the silent pity of other villagers.

How to tell her Harry got himself jailed and left nine year old Susannah to fend for herself while he had been enjoying his Governor Generals' prize trip to the woods. Harry, the drunken sailor that he was, finally drove their little family to the rocks: Too late to cover up for their father, William came home the summer of 1875 to find the nuns were preparing to remove him and Susannah to a Home, and he felt tremendously guilty that he'd been away and let that happen. After the chaos of living with Harry, leaving Nova Scotia for Aunt Emily's in New Brunswick… St. Ignatius was a practical strategy because his scholarship as a boarding student there meant one less mouth to feed at his Aunt's for nine months of the year. Then St. Ignatius became his dream, his refuge… and his torment…

Arriving at St. Ignatius had been terrifying and at the same time uplifting to his twelve-year old self…Could he say how surprisingly homesick he had been for Susannah? How difficult it had been to adjust to the rigidity of the institution's discipline after functioning for years as the adult his father should have been, making his own way and his own decisions for himself and his sister? How could he say any of that to her in a way she could understand?

He scarce knew how to explain it even to himself. But, he owed it to her to try.

"Julia, St. Ignatius was everything to me. All the boys were equal; most came from poor families, but not all, and our pasts, our fortunes, who our parents were or where they came from…were all irrelevant." William had no trouble contrasting that with what was true about Sommerbank where social strata were rigidly enforced, if James Pendrick was to be believed. "All that mattered was learning and faith. The curriculum you had at Bishop Strachan was similar to mine and academically rigorous, with additional religious education for me, considering a sizable percentage of us went on to Seminary. For five years it shaped me into who I am today. Father Keegan gave me the foundation, the freedom and encouragement to be creative and curious. But St. Ignatius took all that and refined and expanded me…" He flashed on the harsh, sometimes brutal discipline, the excitement he experienced to be able to read anything his heart desired, his decision to abandon seeking holy orders, the joy, the friendship with Eddie Collins and other companions… and the loneliness. He made himself keep talking. "…Expanded me despite my own shortcoming, _and theirs_ …" He turned to her with a half grin, hoping to soften the frown starting to form on her face.

"William, I want our son to be educated in an environment where he will learn to work alongside females and come to respect them. I don't want him to be sheltered from a world wherein he will have to work with women and treat them as equals. I'm afraid if we were to send him away, the only females he would ever come into contact with would be in submissive, inferior positions," she argued, feeling her anger color her cheeks.

He shook his head. "You marvel sometimes at how _stable_ I am, or practical or creative, or kind. That I do value women as equals, unreservedly…" He saw her nod affirmatively. "That part of me, I suppose was always there but it is a foundation of a Jesuit education to find God and the Lord's beauty in all things, in all people. MY education did not teach me to treat women as less than equal. If you appreciate that about me, it is not just because I had a sister and a mother I loved dearly, or even because of a parish priest who took a shine to a curious young, motherless boy…but also my time at St. Ignatius."

Julia was not sure she ever heard him speak that way before. This was not the whole story, certainly, because he was still evading questions about his time there, but the truth rang through clearly in his words, and it touched her…and worried her. "I see. But William, unless you have plans for De La Salle College for him, our son would be sent away for your Jesuit education—as far away Canisius High School in Buffalo as a boarding student! What is the point of having a child if we plan to give them to another to raise?" she asked.

"I hadn't considered that eventuality," William admitted, "especially since it is so many years in the future. I don't believe I'd ever wish to send my own child away nor am I insisting on a Jesuit education— _De La Salle_ would be fine. It was not being a boarding student or immersing myself in the atmosphere that I think was most important, not even having a Jesuit education per se…though even you have to admit they have an excellent reputation for academics," he defended his point of view a bit. "It was having faith intertwined in daily life that was important."

"And _my_ point of view? Is that to be ignored?" Julia poked at him. "And what if we have a girl? While I believe our daughter would benefit greatly from being educated at a single sex school so that she may learn the fundamentals in peace, and without fear from those who would denigrate her on account of her sex, I will not have her taught that her only options in life are to take vows and become a nun, or become a wife and mother! Can you honestly tell me that there are modern career women at your church, or that you believe they would encourage her to pursue something more than becoming an ornament to a man?"

He cringed internally a bit at her assumption that Catholic teachers, lay women or nuns, would automatically relegate women and girls to subservient roles or undermine educational or career aspirations. William knew that such ideas about Catholics were common amongst individuals with no exposure at all to actual Catholics or Catholic institutions. He also was aware that the way some Catholic individuals and institutions executed their faith lent themselves to such repressive attitudes. _Julia does have a point_ , he thought. _It also might be time to expand her understanding, and acquaintance with some of the parishioners at St. Paul's_.

At the moment, William simply squeezed her knee, and nodded. "I hadn't considered it from that perspective, Julia. Yes, we need to discuss this further," he assured her as they pulled into to the school drive. "Whichever decision we come to, it **must** be one that we both **agree** with. The last thing I want is for any one person to be winner takes all in this discussion," he reassured her, hoping his words would calm her, seeing the emotion welling in her eyes. He had wanted this drive to be an opportunity to discuss matters, and he had certainly not meant to upset her.

Blinking her eyes a few times, and taking a deep breath, Julia nodded. _It seems that we both have a strong opinion on this matter. Fair enough, I suppose. Education is one of the key things that have made both of us who we are, and to reject the other's schooling experiences is to reject the other in an odd way._

# # #

Once admitted to the building, Julia surveyed the scene, while William offered his customary blessing. It was just her and William, standing in a sunny spot, watching the dust motes dance as sunshine poured through the tall diamond-paned windows of the Sommerbank Academy's plush and hushed library. She did not like the glowering portrait of the man William identified as Cecil Rowland—it gave her shivers, imagining the inescapability of those dark eyes. _Nowhere to hide in here…_ she thought with a shudder. Not for the first time was she thankful that she had chosen a different school.

Half on and half off the carpeted aisle was the body of Angus Peters, crushed under a large oak book case, with its contents scattered everywhere. _Mr. Rowland clearly disapproves of the mess,_ she said to herself, giving one last glance to the monstrous portrait. She knelt by the victim's side, looking for evidence of rigor and livor mortis and any visible wounds. "I estimate he has only been dead since perhaps six am. I can't tell if it was a blow to the head, a crushing injury or suffocation, although there is some _petechia_. Once you get the book case off him I will do an official temperature to narrow the window."

Two constables heaved at the bookcase while William helped her rise, true gentleman that he was. "Well, William. I always do say that sometimes the job will kill you!"

He recognizing her attempt at levity and tried not to scowl, while Jackson and Henry came up behind them, stifling a pair of guffaws.

Julia smiled brilliantly at them in gratitude, after giving her husband a sideways glance. "Who found the body?" she asked.

Henry opened his notebook. "One of the contractor's assistants was here to take measurements—the library is one of the parts of the building that will be expanded by adding on an atrium to connect with the new wing. He was here by eight, found Mr. Peters and ran to the Headmaster's quarters. The phone call alerting you was from there I am told. Jackson and I arrived a little before eight-thirty. Nothing's been touched, sir. I secured the library and Jackson has been with the widow."

Julia finished making her temperature measurements. "My initial estimation is consistent with death at about six am. If I can learn what he had for breakfast, the stomach contents will help refine the time. May I take the body?" she asked, getting to her feet again.

"Yes, of course. Henry, thank you for the report. Will you accompany Dr. Ogden and the corpse back to the morgue and get Jackson's information on the widow?" William requested.

Constables arranged the victim on a stretcher and hoisted him up to begin carting him out of the room to the wagon waiting outside. William tested out one of the bookcases. They were tall but thin. _A determined shove would definitely send one over._

William could still hear Inspector Brackenreid's reaction to the news of Peters' demise. _Such profanity at such an early hour_ , observed William, shaking his head at the creativity necessary to spew invective for several minutes without repeating ones' self. Early on in their professional association, such tirades, especially profanity, made him flinch; now he tuned it out if at all possible. _It had been harder than usual this morning._

William left his musings and turned back to the crime scene, noticing Henry was not leaving with the body and looked very pleased with himself. He wondered if George had a talk with him about his deportment; if so it was working, and there was no more tension between the friends that William discerned. He raised his eyebrows, encouraging the young man to speak.

"Sir, I also searched the whole library as well as his office, with the Headmaster's permission. Someone had tried to get in, but the lock held. They don't make doors like they used to." Henry smiled inappropriately then got himself under control. "The groundskeeper, Francis, had a key and let me in. I came up with these," Henry handed over a ledger and several sheets of paper. "They were in his center drawer. I, er… George taught me how to pick the lock…" Higgins said as he blushed.

 _Unrepentantly,_ William thought. He was relieved that permission had been granted for the search because inside the ledger were several squares of paper, bearing similar strings of numbers as the one found in Mr. McNaughton's possession. To his eye they looked old, and had obviously been folded. "Did you find anything else, Henry?"

"I am no expert," Henry admitted, "but there are somethings in Mr. Peter's office that are rather expensive, for a teacher that is. They appear to be personal possessions, not belonging to the Library, according to the Headmaster."

"Show me, Henry."


	7. Chapter 7

The morning's investigation at Sommerbank sped along faster than he realized, getting William back to the stationhouse a little past midday. He brought all Angus Peters' papers from his office and installed George, Henry, Jackson as team leaders, with one constable to assist, to sift through them looking for clues about Mr. Peters' finances.

His second stop was to the morgue, ostensibly to check on progress with the autopsy, but William admitted to himself it was also to see his wife. Julia and Miss James had finished the preliminaries—cause of death was blunt force trauma; contributing factors included suffocation. "When the bookcase hit him he fell and hit his head; the weight of the bookcase compressed his lungs so he could not breathe. It is a toss-up which got to him first, but I think he was unconscious, regardless." She went through the rest of the ritual, but none of it was revealing. Julia could not help but notice how agitated her husband was. She tried to lighten the mood. "It is ironic, isn't it? It appears the trustee is killed by the building he was supposed to care about and the librarian was killed by his own library?"

He knew in some part of his mind she wanted him to laugh. "Er…yes. I suppose so…" was all he gave her, lost in thought. Julia allowed Miss James to complete the remainder of the analysis while she accompanied him toward the door. "William. What else is troubling you?"

William had erased his other remaining suspects, Cornelius Black and Melvin Borden from the chalk board, believing that here was not enough evidence and only thin motives. "Mr. Peters had some very expensive items in his office, and it turns out, in his home. His wife convinced me she had no idea of the cost of neither the items nor where money came from to obtain them. I also saw rare and first addition books. I thought he was a poor teacher—he has very little money in the bank, but does have a few possessions that are out of character for a man of his means. So where did the money come from?"

"What are your ideas?" she questioned.

"At first I thought theft, or he was somehow skimming from the till, so to speak. That could explain tension between McNaughton and him regarding money and another motive for the trustee wanting to be rid of him, but both the Headmaster and McNaughton's own records say that finances balanced to the penny. He must has been up to something else…" William remembered that at least one member of the faculty here made money selling stories… _I must get George to check on that._

He grimaced. "His death _has_ to be connected to Mr. McNaughton's which means my theory of the case has been all wrong, unless a third party, knowing that Mr. Peters killed Mr. McNaughton, sought revenge?" He frowned. "No. This means that we have to put everyone back on the suspect list," he winced at the memory of Brackenreid's ire, "creating a new field-day for the press…"

Julia was quiet for a moment. "I don't think so. In fact, I think this is a break for you…although Mr. Peters might not be so enthusiastic about that," she said half jesting. When William did not react to the joke she let it go. "You have those pages with numbers on them—that connects both victims, perhaps just not in the way you originally thought. Who would be threatened enough by the actions of _both_ Mr. McNaughton _and_ Mr. Peters to kill them?" she speculated out loud.

"Julia! You are so right. Mr. McNaughton and Mr. Peters must be connected to a third party but in a different way..." He checked his timepiece with a slightly unfocused gaze. "Please forgive me, but I have to excuse myself from luncheon…"

Julia saw that look on his face. _His mind is already gone off somewhere, visualizing a solution to his problem. It is a good thing I love him_ , she thought, _because any other woman would feel a wee bit disregarded. He's just going to have to make it up to me in Montreal._

Back in the station house, William pulled all six men off paperwork duty. "Gentlemen, you can come back to that later. Right now we are interested in finding out what these messages contain." His announcement brought the inspector out of his office.

"Murdoch, what's this all about?" Brackenreid's colour was up from answering too many phone calls. He'd just reassured the mayor and Chief Constable that the investigation was going apace, and here his detective was off solving number puzzles instead. "Is that going to help?"

"But I thought they were in code, how are we going to do that?" Jackson asked, and the rest of the men seemed to agree.

"It may not be a code, but instead a cipher. Let me explain…" William's five minute lecture on cryptography, Caesar shift ciphers, Key-ciphers, Scytale, transposition ciphers and substitution ciphers had everyone but George rolling their eyes.

Brackenreid finally stopped the torture. "Just tell us what you want us to do…"

Within an hour each man had applied one method to each note and the results were on the chalkboard. Unfortunately, their original enthusiasm was wasted. A Key cipher using the School Song, _Jerusalem,_ looked promising at first but fell apart rapidly. Not a single line of letters made any sense at all whether written forwards, backwards or divided into columns. Feeling dejected, William set them back to paperwork sorting while he brooded in his office.

A soft knock on his door brought his head up to see Julia standing there. "I come bearing gifts." She approached and placed a bag in his desk blotter and took one of the chairs opposite his desk. "I did not take lunch either so I decided we both needed sustenance."

A delicious smell caught William's attention—inside the bag was a sausage nestled in bread with bright yellow sauce on it. "Thank you…I think." He brought it out of the bag and looked curiously at it. "May I ask what this is?"

"Why, yes you may. It is something called a "Hot Dog" and that sauce is called yellow mustard—it was all the rage at the World's Fair. I just had one and they are delicious!" She urged him to overcome caution, as well as to use a napkin so as not to stain his suit. While he worked his way through his treat, Julia looked at his chalkboard, covered in lines of letters. "Well, I see you have one. What is wrong with the rest of them?"

William had a mouthful of meat and bread, so his words were muffled and indistinct, but the shake of his head was not. She stood and went closer. "Yes. Right here. - **JMTNTHDRV—** It says, 'Jay. Meet north door,' and, umm… 'Five.' Now the rest of this is a mess…" she pointed at the other chalk letters.

She felt him by her side. "What are you talking about?" he asked skeptically. "There are no English words there –or French or Spanish or…" He looked a third time. "It says no such thing…."

"William— the human mind does not have to read each letter to get the gist of the word." She looked at the letters again. "Was this the one in Mr. McNaughton's jacket? Doesn't his first name begin with a 'J' and was he not found outside the north entrance to the school? It is so obvious—how do you not see that?"

By the time the realization that Julia was right overtook him, he'd nearly crushed her by picking her up and twirling her around and was already shouting out his office door, doing a fair imitation of the inspector. "George, Henry, get the men back in here…!"

# # #

Inspector Brackenreid stood impatiently with his shirt-sleeved arms crossed over a grey silk waistcoat, staring at his detective's chalkboard as the men translated page after page of numbers into rows of letters with Julia's solution, and placed them on both sides of the slate.

Dr. Ogden stood with him, _rather smugly,_ he thought. "So, doctor, are you adding 'cryptologist' to your resume on top of 'pathologist' and 'psychiatrist'?" He marveled that once one had the right answer key and understood how to read the notes, it was not very complicated after all. _I wonder how Murdoch likes being outdone by his wife?_

She answered: "I was rather thinking 'detective' actually…." Julia was inordinately pleased with the praise from Inspector Brackenreid and amused by the conflicting feeling in her husband—proud of her and, after the initial excitement wore off, a little put out he did not solve it himself. "It is a puzzle like any other. I realized it could not be all that complicated. There had to be a text key or it was simple substitute cipher. The only clever things the boys did was group the numbers in pairs and then make sure there were no actual words spelled out properly. I suppose they believed that any teacher who gained access to them would be incapable of seeing past poor spelling or grammar." Her eyes darted to William who was studiously matching parts of the notes to knowledge about the school.

This time, it was Julia who commandeered the chalk board.

A-01 B-02 C-03 D-04 E-05 F-06 G-07 H-08 I-09

J-001 K-002 L-003 M-004 N-005 O-006 P-007 Q-008 R-009

S-0001 T-0002 U-0003 V-0004 W-0005 X-0006 Y-0007 Z-0008

"Each letter is represented by a number and you find the letter by counting how many zeros are in front of the number. "A" through "I" are 01 through 09. "J" through "R" are 001 through 009, etcetera, all the way to "Z" at 0008." She turned back to the inspector and gave him a wide, excited grin. "It was quite fun, actually!"

"Clever….yes," came words from the detective's desk. "But not clever enough. Someone, I am thinking librarian Angus Peters, came across the notes, collected them and discovered what they were about."

"So, Murdoch. You think that our librarian was blackmailing some ex-students of the school over the disappearance of the Broche boy in 1879? And we now think that was a murder?" The inspector was glad he never considered a tony education for his sons— _Dangerous places, just breeding sociopaths…_ he grunted to himself.

"Well he _was_ on faculty. " Julia pointed out. "He may have intercepted notes passed in class or even tucked into the library books."

William rose and came over to stand with the other two. "It may not be murder, but a death, certainly, _not_ a disappearance as was assumed at the time. That seems to be the content of the notes—the boys fearfully discussing where to quickly dispose of his remains, and then feeling guilty about it, coming up with a story to tell the authorities. Blackmail would explain where money for some of Angus Peters' finer things came from." William had inspector Brackenreid's chalk board brought in as well and pointed to the list of names. This time his office blinds and his curtain were shut and as an added precaution he had one of the constables cover his window with white paper. "In these notes, the same five pairs of initials repeat themselves. We have "MB", "TH", "SM", "FP" and then "X." The first four appear as salutations, the "X" less frequently, and young master Broche's Christian name was Xavier."

"None of them are "J" however," Brackenreid said out loud, frustration growing.

"Unfortunately, the way Mr. Peters forms his numbers is quite distinctive and the note about someone named "J" being asked to meet by the north entrance to the building is not in his hand. So, it appears he was not the one meeting Mr. McNaughton." William reached behind him and came up with a ledger and a single sheet of paper. He handed a separate slim volume to Julia for her to examine. "As for blackmail. The librarian in Mr. Peters made him incapable of _not_ properly cataloguing everything. Notations in the ledger correspond to M, T, S, and F along with amounts of money and dates. There is no "J" in here either. So if "J" is for Josiah, he was not being blackmailed; furthermore he graduated in 1876. Cross-referencing those remaining initials to the 1879 graduating class, and taking onto account who has already passed away, we have Steven Madder, Terence Halliwell, Franklin Parson…"

Brackenreid exhaled. _Finally!_ "And our trustee, Melvin Borden."

"And, here they are, gentlemen, and would you look at that? All members of the Lacrosse Club!" Julia turned the school year-book page over to her companions, where in black and white was a photograph of four very young men on a playing field.

"So there is your motive for Peters' murder, Murdoch. Borden was being blackmailed by him. But why kill McNaughton?" He needed to make an arrest but it had to be the right one— _None of this question everyone and then decide._ While they had been in his detective's office, his own telephone rang several times without being answered. "And why now?"

"I have a guess about that. Bring Mr. Borden in for questioning and I believe we can use the same interview room, set up the same way we did for Mr. Peters."

# # #

Julia was granted permission to observe the interview from the hallway, with Melvin Borden seated so she could see his face. Mr. Borden had been discovered boarding a train to Windsor, and was escorted off, complaining the whole way about the risk to his business of missing his meeting in Chicago. The man was conventionally attired in a summer-grey suit, clean-shaven with sandy-coloured hair and blue eyes. Julia estimated he was about William's height and weight. Inside the wood-paneled room, Mr. Borden went from irritated to amused to affronted to defensive, finally ending up defiantly unburdening himself of the story he'd kept a secret for twenty-five years followed by the horror of killing two men.

Seeing the photograph of his victim's ruined skull undid him entirely. All joking aside, Julia thought that perhaps her husband could add 'alienist' to his own resume, considering how skillfully he opened his adversary up. This stirred admiration as well as disquiet…their own conversations were often frustratingly superficial or emotionally derailed. _Heaven help me if William ever decides to interrogate me as such; I hope to never be on the receiving end of his scalpel-precise inquiry. On the other hand it shows me he can get to the bottom of things under the right circumstances._

By now, Mr. Borden was standing up, gesticulating. "All these years I actually thought it was one of _them_ blackmailing me…" He pointed to the yearbook picture, "No matter they denied it. _But Peters?_ " he spit out and his eyes blazed. "That bastard! I never thought he was so smart."

"And Mr. McNaughton?" William promoted.

"That's why I finagled onto the board in the first place, because I knew they'd dig up poor Broche where we planted him in the foundation for that library. I needed to halt the school renovation. I had to stop Josiah! I thought he was going to vote against, right up until the last minute, he even told me he was! Then he said he changed his mind. _'We need to get into the twentieth century'_ says he. Josiah was one of the chosen four students from a previous year—so I knew he'd trust a message delivered that way in our cipher…" Borden took in a long breath, looking suddenly sad and for a brief flash William saw the frightened young man of twenty five years ago. "Broche's death… **Now that** was an accident, you understand." He paused again, swallowing. "' Broken Broche' was what we called Xavier. 'Broken' wanted to join the 'Quattuor Club' as we were called. Only four seniors each year get to be invited to do that, a secret, sacred honour— to scale to all four of the highest places in the school… some students only get one or two…" he trailed off for a moment, his narrative entangled with memory.

William quietly prompted him again. "Like the school motto, _Et ad summum: I achieve the highest."_

Borden went on in a rush. "Yes! But instead of prudence, temperance, fortitude and justice we got into the highest spots of the buildings, inside and out. We four were chosen the year before, so it was up to us to choose the next four and initiate them. Broche got himself drunk then he slipped, fell from the ledge in the chapel." Borden's eyes lost focus. "'Broken' was…. broken…." He ended in a whisper.

William had vivid recall of the distance between the tiny ledge and the pews below and flinched inwardly.

The suspect cleared his throat and continued. "We got scared, acted rashly…the police, our parents, the headmaster, our colleges—too much, all too much." Borden's breath was heaving and his words came in blurts: "Then the blackmail started the week of graduation. Tore us apart…After graduation we never spoke again… ashamed, scared, and suspicious of each other. The requests for money happened irregularly over the years, whenever things were going really well for me… _There it was_ —a coded message asking for money to be wired or sent to a post office box. I always paid."

William made eye contact with his superior. They still needed to connect the physical evidence because once Mr. Borden calmed down and hired a barrister, the confession would be under pressure. "But that is not all, is it?" Unlike a lawyer who only asks questions to which they already knew the answer, William found open ended questions produced the most from a suspect—and often that was what clinched the cases. He casually lifted the cloth covering the lacrosse stick.

"No, of course not. Peters got bold. He found the old damn stick I used on McNaughton—I dropped behind the side door when I went up to push the stone over onto him. I knew it would not take much to slide a piece off, then the stick was gone when I got back down. I was frantic, I tell you when it was gone! Peters took it away to hold it over my head." He snorted. "You tell me he somehow hid it in the sport shed—last place I'd ever expect it to be, hiding in plain sight!" Borden groaned and was less animated now. "He didn't want the renovations to go forward either, because if Broche's body was found then he could not blackmail anyone anymore. He wasn't coy anymore, no coded messages… just asked me outright for cash. Then he said if the foundation did reveal Broche's remains, the notes we students passed were up for sale. I needed to get those notes back. You understand, we'd all be ruined! All four of us!" He attempted to justify what he did. "Peters found me trying to get into his office... We argued and the bookcase just…"

Borden slumped back into his chair and covered his face, all his energy spent as he started to backpedal away from taking responsibility and the truth.

"Mr. Borden. It would go a long way towards establishing mitigating circumstances, the accidental nature of Mr. Broche's tragic fall, the precipitating altercation with Mr. Peters and the blackmail, if you would write it all out yourself," Brackenreid slid a pad of paper and a pencil to the suspect's place at the table. "That way we can talk to the authorities on your behalf."

Julia saw Mr. Borden hesitate only fractionally, psychologically exhausted and being loomed over by the inspector in an avuncular, yet intimidating way. It was no contest—Mr. Borden took up the instruments and began writing.

* * *

That night as soon as the door closed behind them as they returned to their suite, William wasted no time in informing Julia of his preferences. He slid his left hand around her waist and brought her hips to lock against his. He hooded his eyes and sought a kiss. "I know we must finish our conversation from this morning about educating our as yet-to-be-determined children, but if I have a choice, I'd much prefer to love you rather than fight with you," he admitted in the low voice he knew she enjoyed in such moments.

"I must say that I quite agree, William. I prefer you as a lover as opposed to sparring with you, myself," she laughed as she kissed him back, exhausted from the emotionally and professionally intense past few days, but feeling the stirrings of desire all the same. "And solving a case together is quite stimulating. Speaking of education….I suppose there are still a few things each of us can teach the other, hmmm?"

"Well, Julia…I, for one, have always been a _very_ good student…" he answered.

"Yes, I can certainly attest to that," she purred as she stroked his chest with her palm. "Perhaps I could be a student of yours tonight, and I could learn something about you I've yet to discover, dear husband."

William's only response was the deep, throaty laugh she adored. Her insides tingled with anticipation.

Thus, as they later lay entangled with one another in their bed, blissfully satisfied and having sufficiently recovered from the intensity of their relations, William indulged himself in a bit of pillow talk, and laid out all of the final details of the case. "…In the end, Mr. Peters became too greedy, or careless, or both. Mr. Borden was actually offended that it was the librarian extorting money out of him all those years; he viewed the man as beneath him in education, class, and most certainly wealth and privilege. When Peters revealed himself in the last blackmail attempt, I do believe Mr. Borden just snapped."

"What about the ultimate decision about adding girl's dormitories to the school?" Julia wondered. Knowing what she now knew about Sommerbank had put her off of any thoughts of sending any children of hers there, yet she was curious. If Sommerbank went coeducational, other institutions would undoubtedly soon follow, creating a plethora of options.

"James Pendrick thinks that it will go forward. He also told me that all those places the students used to sneak up to will be identified and blocked off from access in the renovations. I think we will ultimately find out that the student who supposedly suicided off the building was another example of an accidental death, so I have George looking into it. It might spare the family one kind of grief, even if it is replaced by another. The whole "Quattuor Club" as they called themselves will officially be over, if I don't miss my guess." William rolled over, pulling Julia to snuggle against him.

Deciding that now was as good a time as any, William risked the blissful peace of post-marital relations, and broached the unresolved topics of their earlier discussions. "Julia, we have been making too many assumptions and having too many unexamined expectations about the meaning of family, religion, education, gender….you name it! And that is not good between us. You heard me out in the carriage. But I did not get the opportunity to hear from you, and I'd like the same insights about why your opinions are the way they are. I admire you and can only imagine the positive influence you will have as a mother to our child," he praised. "As for sending them away, I agree with you that any boarding school situation is not what I would wish for our child's education. In fact, I think we'd be fine teachers of our child all on our own—think how much they could learn from us!" he laughed.

Julia groaned. "Our poor child, he or she won't think it strange in the least to discuss murders over tea, or autopsies at recess," she cautioned before shaking her head and poking a firm pectoral. Cupping it in her hand, she relished the feel of his muscles between her fingers. "You do realize, of course, if our child grows up to be at all like us, he or she might have some strong opinions of their own that we might have to contend with…" she chuckled before resuming a serious expression. "Perhaps if we were to agree to a secular education? While my education was quite Anglican, and yours obviously very Catholic, I don't see why we would have to send our child to such a place. Who knows, perhaps we could even find a suitable public school and let them be educated with the heathens," she mischievously replied, laying her palm flat on his abdomen, waiting to see his reaction as she let it slide further, and was quickly rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.

"I see. Did they teach you of such things at your school? Distracting Your Husband 101, perhaps?" he asked as her hand grasped his shaft and began to move in an upwards and downwards motion. He groaned.

"Oh, heavens no. I assume that the expectation was that we would lie back and think of Canada, and even then, only within the bounds of proper matrimony. No, I suppose it's true that my friends and I learned of such things at school, but certainly not from our teachers. Those naughty chapbooks you've encountered over the years were most instructional and were the topic of many a discussion. Surely all of you boys at St. Ignatius weren't always so pious. Surely you boys wondered about such things and may have even discussed them. Certainly William Murdoch wasn't so pious all of the time, was he?"

William noticed, once again, that Julia was not answering his question about where her strong feelings and opinions about raising their child came from. _And_ that she was using seduction as a tool of distraction. _Heathen indeed!_ _She is exactly the sort of temptation that I was warned about in church **and** school_. He shifted to explore her body with his fingers. "Sexual urges were understood as God's way to test our faith. Relations between men and women were treated as a dangerous mystery to be avoided until marriage. I think that was wise."

"Oh, _you do_?" she teased by ceasing her movements on his flesh.

"Yes. Because…" he put his hand between her thighs, and moved his hips to slide against her, delighting in her moan, "once you have had this experience of connection, you'd never want it to stop, or at least I knew that was how I'd feel once I had been with you…" he replied sincerely.

 _And I can use seduction to avoid uncomfortable questions just as well as she can..._ he smiled to himself.


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

Though she certainly didn't do it often, she agreed to accompany William to Mass at the Notre-Dame Basilica in Montreal's old city. While she was somewhat unnerved by the interior, her Protestant sensibilities somewhat jarred by the ornate decorations, she was also quite thrilled with the Gothic Revival architecture that reminded of her of many a cathedral in Europe. She supposed that there was also some national pride that it was also the largest church in all of Canada and the United States combined, and seeing as she had never once made it inside during her student days, she had offered to attend with her husband as well as satisfy her curiosity.

William was very happy to escort his wife to the cathedral as part of their vacation. The train ride yesterday was lovely and their accommodations were exactly perfect: modest, comfortable and completely private. In the short time since the conclusion of the Sommerbank murder case, he and Julia had explored most of the origins of their differences in views on religion, education and gender. He was able to convince her that she might wish to rethink some of her mistaken views about his faith; she was able to convince him that a secular education was preferable, at least for the younger grades. Then, after knowing their child better, a decision could be made about higher education; university was a given, however—in that they had no disagreement at all. The only area that was not worked out was how to get this child they agreed they wanted to raise. He had a new letter in his pocket from the Diocesan Adoption board inviting them back for another interview, which he planned to share with Julia after the service today as a surprise. He brought her up the steps and into the narthex and he opened the door for her to enter ahead of him, just in time for the service to start.

The ceiling, painted a most magnificent shade of blue with golden stars was certainly amongst the most opulent she had ever seen, and the brilliant polychromatic color scheme in the sanctuary complete with wooden carvings, religious statuary and vivid stained glass windows was simply jaw dropping. Julia had never seen anything like it, and took her seat in the pew, enthralled. Rather than pay attention to the Latin Mass which, unlike most of the congregation, she understood perfectly well, she'd contented herself with looking around.

It pleased her that even a man as devout as William had difficulty focusing on the priest and was often caught looking around himself. Afterwards, they spent a long while looking around the church at the gorgeous artworks and even received special permission to inspect the massive pipe organ, comprised of four keyboards, 92 stops using electropneumatic action, and 7000 individual pipes just to name a few of the components. When William had wanted to know how it actually worked, the acolyte that had been sent to accompany them quickly fetched one of the caretakers, who was more than happy to expound upon the instrument.

Julia had been agreeable to leave the instructional lesson to William and pleased herself with studying the paintings. Unlike the windows in William's church, Saint Paul in Toronto that portrayed scenes from the Bible, these windows were plain colored glass, cheerful and uplifting rather than the disturbing scenes of martyrdom portrayed in William's congregation.

While she had been satisfied to attend mass and look around, she had also had an ulterior motive in attending with William this morning. While she was borderline Atheist and most certainly Agnostic, she wanted the religious uplift William would get from the experience, to start the conversation about a natural child while he was in that heightened state. She wanted him to acknowledge that if God were to bless them with the miracle of a pregnancy, wouldn't said event encourage him to accept that the pregnancy was an act of God's will?

After emerging from the Cathedral, they walked along the _Place D'Armes_ opposite the church, reveling in the lovely day and beautiful surroundings. William was enjoying his Sunday immensely, feeling happy and proud to have Julia on his arm. Framed by the beautiful blue sky behind her, and attired in a fetching new dress of white lawn and lace accompanied with a straw hat topped with a bright blue silk bow that matched her eyes and the sash tied jauntily around her waist, she was the epitome of loveliness to him. He caught himself strutting a bit. _With very good reason,_ he told himself.

As if she could read his mind, she scrunched her nose and giggled as she grinned at him in response. "Oh, William, don't you know that I find you just as lovely?" William's pseudo-embarrassed smile and pink cheeks were just what she had been after. "Those schoolgirl crushes of mine were but a pale comparison to you," she replied squeezing his hand as they continued their walk, eventually spotting a bench near the Maisonneuve Monument, an imposing obelisk quite noteworthy in and of itself, and seated themselves. Many other lovers were walking by, taking in the warmth of the day and the brilliant sunshine.

William arranged his face and slipped into a teasing tone. "Julia! Just how many crushes are we talking about, hmm? Have I married a woman with more of a history than I previously supposed?" he said in mock-effrontery.

"What? No crushes when you were a lad? A good looking lad, were I to guess?" She narrowed her eyes. "Freddie Pink, perhaps?" William drew his head back in that way he did when he was confused, so she knew that had not hit a mark. _Oh, too bad,_ she thought.

William's face softened. He sighed. "Only one, I'm afraid. I was very young and she was my cousin. She…er, got the measles and…well." He smiled. It was still a good memory of his first female friend. "After that, there _were_ no girls, at least none I found to be all that _interesting_." He looked at her pointedly. "And then for a long while until I was seventeen I thought I'd become a priest. So…"

"I see. You found you were not destined for celibacy after all…" she giggled and he started to blush. _Got him!_

They sat in warm companionship watching the passersby. Julia pointed out a family walking along, a young boy kitted out in a snappy sailor suit suspended between the hands of his parents. He was about four years old with wide brown eyes and reddish hair and was chattering a string of questions a mile a minute. His mother and father cheerfully answered him, feeding his curiosity about the birds, trees, buildings and people they encountered. She saw her husband follow the trio with his awareness, a smile forming on his mouth and crinkle by his eyes.

She reached over to touch his arm, the conversation she intended to initiate pushed aside for the moment. "William," she asked, indicating the boy and his family with a gesture. "Why have you always wanted a son?"

William turned from looking after that little family to look at her, her blonde hair gently moving in the air and a sparkle in her blue eyes _. Why indeed?_ He had actually been thinking about that for quite a while. It was not to pass along his biological traits, but it _was_ something about his drive to be a better man than his own father had been. He'd come to understand that there were twin forces acting on him, both carving his character. To be the opposite of Harry Murdoch was obvious. More ephemeral had been coming to terms with the idea he wanted to pass on the legacy of dignity and kindness he got from Father Keegan, to another young boy. Father Keegan, for the few short years of their acquaintance, had truly been his _father_ in the sense of a man who protects and guides a young person down the path of life.

He made sure he held her gaze, and spoke from his heart. "I think the world needs good men, Julia. I only wish to bring one along in his world to replace me—perhaps leaving this world a better place than I found it, with a boy who will grow to be a better man than I, and who will enter the future after I am gone."

As soon as he said it she knew it was true. _And so like him…_ "William, I was fortunate to have been blessed with parents who encouraged and or permitted me to achieve my goals while providing the means for me to do so. I am well cognizant that I come from a place of privilege, and thus I have dedicated my adult life to speaking up for women and girls who do not enjoy the same freedoms and opportunities as I have had. Yet, I do not wish this for my child. Knowing some of the things that were said about me, _done to me,_ have been hurtful and I do not know if I can bear the thought of my daughter enduring these same trials. Thus, I want a son as well, one who will be taught to be compassionate, one who will recognize that he must also be a force for change, to stand up for those who do not enjoy his position, if that makes sense to you," she said with a nervous laugh.

William held her closely, kissing her forehead and then her lips. "Knowing you, it does, it certainly does."

Julia was pleased, feeling the timing was even better now for her next conversation with her husband, the one she had been putting off until their trip. "I believe that I promised you that I would explain why I've recently begun taking my temperature every morning." She saw William's face take on worry, and quickly reassured him. "Everything is fine, and I'm perfectly well. Hendrik Van de Velde, a Dutch physician, believes that when a woman is most fertile, her body temperature will rise a few brief days each month. If I chart my body temperature, eventually I can figure out when I am most likely to conceive, and we can target our efforts, if you will," she smiled, taking his tie and stroking it with both hands.

Coughing and swallowing with difficulty, "Julia, I've told you," he began his rebuttal before she interrupted him.

"William, please hear me out. Yes, I want to do this for you, but I also want to do it for me. While I will be content to adopt a child with you, if there is a chance that we could have our own child, a unique, one of a kind collaboration… if there are some recent advances that I could try, then I'd very much like to do so. I want this, William, and I know that you do too," she smirked, touching his knee and moving her hand up slowly and firmly.

He stopped the progress of her hand, _In public!_ He could only stare at her, supremely confused, exhaling sharply before replying. "Julia, how could you be endeavoring to become pregnant without my consent? I told you how I felt, how it's not worth the risk and now you've decided to surprise me with a pregnancy that could kill you?" he stated, feeling himself becoming hot under the collar and knowing that had nothing to do with the temperature of the summer day. He blinked several times, hoping that there was something more, scanning desperately for it, his mind unable to think clearly due to an encroaching panic. _Had she unwittingly trapped him into something he wanted no part of?_

Feeling his body go rigid with what she quickly guessed to be anger as well as an attempt to distance himself from her, she knew that he wasn't grasping all of the details. Feeling herself respond in kind, she shook her head and deliberately grabbed his face to force him to look at and listen to her. "William, I've done no such thing. I'm merely recording data; nothing has changed and if you were truly concerned about me becoming pregnant against your wishes, perhaps you should have started employing some form of birth control before now, don't you think?" she retorted before softening as she truly glimpsed his stricken face.

Laughing softly and shaking her head, she allowed her hand to slip from his face to his neck, slipping her fingers inside the top of his collar. "I'm not insane, nor do I have a death wish. I've done my research, and I sought the counsel of Isaac, who assures me that while it is a remote possibility, there ** _is_** a chance, provided that he can remove most of the scar tissue on my cervix. That procedure is relatively simple, and he can perform it in his office, and afterwards, who knows what will be possible? Maybe God will choose to provide you with a miracle, William, and wouldn't it be **_His_** will if a pregnancy were to occur?" she pleaded, grabbing and squeezing his hands.

William was floored. Was this destiny unfolding…? Or a soaring example of his wife's stubbornness? He had erased the idea of having a natural child from his mind so long ago, and so utterly, that allowing the notion to reconnect within him was overwhelming. He looked at her beautiful face, _Dear Lord, can she be serious?_

She seemed sincere and excited. His mouth was dry and he licked his lips to speak, hope building within him. "Julia, I agree to this only in light of it being your genuine desire to bear a child and out of love for the child itself. _Not_ to please me, _not_ to assuage guilt, _not_ to avoid entanglements with whatever authorities you wish to pick." He put a hand up to stop her from interrupting _him_ this time. "And I wish to talk with Dr. Tash as well and read up on the procedures. That is not about controlling you, it is about expressing my honest thoughts and feelings. I don't need this for myself; I was telling you the truth when I said I only want a family with you, and if you need this for yourself and you have thought through the implications and convince me of the risks, I will have to discard my reservations. Then we will proceed, _together_."

Julia was very happy to hear him say this so explicitly—not realizing up until this point that it was _exactly_ what she needed to hear. _And quite a speech from him it was…._ "We will not be able to predict the gender of our offspring, you know." Julia reminded him.

Looking down at the ground for a few moments, he held her hand as he considered what she had just said before looking back up at her with a shy smile. "Perhaps we should get one of each, so that I may leave a son behind to take my place, and you may raise a daughter to carry on your works. We could raise them to encourage and embolden one another," he stated.

"Perhaps, William, perhaps. Who knows? Maybe we can have one and adopt the other? Even if we adopt both, won't it be fun to at least try?" she asked with a wink. "Perhaps we should undertake such a journey now, William. So long as you take me to that wonderful café that the gentleman from the church recommended to you," she slyly said as they walked away from the monument. "I do believe I will require nourishment before embarking on such adventures,"

"I believe that I am more than capable of having fun with you regardless of whether or not there will ever be a child resulting from such efforts," he murmured, fighting an urge to seek a hidden corner of a nearby park and experience her in all her glory in the out of doors. He considered perhaps it was time for them to return to their lodging lest they be arrested for public indecency, as Julia leaned in and kissed his ear, sending shivers of desire through him. "Indeed, it seems that I have an appetite for all manner of things today," he cheekily replied as he abruptly stopped their progress to admire her in the golden light of the sun.

Julia kissed him again, laughed, then pulled him along, her step growing spritelier. "Perhaps we can always see where the wind carries us, and go from there, shall we?" She laced her fingers with his and smiled. "Besides, haven't I told you that it's more fun to believe in the impossibilities than be discouraged by the improbabilities?"

-END-

* * *

Authors' Notes:

RG wants to thank all who assisted with William's 'origins' backstory: IdBeDelighted, Lovemondays, Eus, and ("Dutch" for a beta-read) and the fun time in Brantford. Your collective generosity is very much appreciated as was meeting JH in person for the first time. " _Colleen Baird_ " also provided the path out of the mystery-knot I wrote myself into (the total Sherlockian that she is)—I was stuck without her.

Fallenbelle would like to thank all of the above, and "Big Red" for offering some commentary that was insightful and for helping out so I could write. Thanks again to Ruthie Green for coming up with the idea and helping with a backstory to fit the mystery. This couldn't have been done without her.

All information on fertility treatments, cesarean sections, and the like are accurate to the time. Henrik Van De Velde's Basal Body Temperature to indicate ovulation and therefore fertility was a groundbreaking theory and supporting data began to be published in various journals in 1904 even if the idea was not formally presented until 1905. Bishop Strachan School is an actual school in Toronto, and dates from 1867. The purpose of the school was to prepare girls for entering university with a rigorous curriculum at a time when no university in Canada would admit them.

St. Ignatius in Fredericton does not exist – after much research from several quarters it does not seem a Jesuit secondary school in New Brunswick existed in the 1870-80'. So, in good Murdoch fashion… we made it up (tee hee) with help from above. The Sommerbank interiors are loosly based on the 1908 Buffalo Seminary building, the oldest college-prep school for girls in NYS, founded 1851. _Lauren Belfour is not_ _the only one who can steal the school for a story!_ -rg


End file.
